


Solar Maximum

by esama



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, inFAMOUS: Second Son
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Curdun Cay, Don't copy to another site, Good Karma Delsin Rowe, Happy Ending, M/M, Recovery, Sensory Deprivation, Solitary Confinement, building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:28:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 73,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27414994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esama/pseuds/esama
Summary: With Augustine behind bars and DUP about to be disbanded, Delsin Rowe takes charge of the Conduits of Curdun Cay Station, including its oldest prisoner, in its deepest cell - Desmond Miles, who hasn't seen the sun in seven years.
Relationships: Desmond Miles/Delsin Rowe
Comments: 1144
Kudos: 2475





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Proofread by nimadge, many, many thanks.  
> Takes place after Infamous Second Son Good Karma Ending.

Desmond is in his usual near hibernation stupor, when things change. By the time the echoes of it reach him, it's probably been running through the prison for a while, though – going by the tremors, people are getting roused upstairs and the guards are reacting accordingly, the ground rumbling as the concrete shifts somewhere above. 

Opening one eye uselessly, Desmond peers into the darkness, not expecting to see anything, and he doesn't – just the flickering illusions his eyes throw at him, trying so hard to see anything in the total lack of light that his mind starts making things up. There's no sound either, nothing carries down there, nothing but the faintest tremors – but that's already very telling. For any tremors to carry this far down… it has to be a lot of activity above.

Either the Big Bad is making changes to the prison above, or there's a full-blown riot happening.

Feeling for the wall with his elbow, Desmond uses the heavy shackles as a counterweight to more smoothly push himself up to slightly shaking feet. Leaning his shoulder on the wall, he closes his eyes and then concentrates until he feels the _strain_ in them. In his cell, there's no source of energy other than him, and he's so weak that he barely puts out an aura anymore... but with effort he can just about _see._

It's bizarrely comforting to know the walls of his cell have stayed the same – still too close, too damn cramped, with barely an air vent with gaps big enough only for bugs to crawl through. But at least for a little while his mind knows the darkness doesn't go on forever and isn't full of nameless, faceless horrors.

Just memories, just long dead ghosts, forever hovering just out of reach.

Ignoring them while feeling around the hard, cold walls with his shoulder until he finds a telltale bump, Desmond knocks his inhibitor cuff against the wall, steady and deliberate. Clang-clang-clang-clang, pause, clang-clang. "HI."

It takes a moment, unfathomable in the darkness, and then there's a reply. Thunk-thunk-thunk, pause, thunk-clang-thunk, pause, thunk-thunk-clang-clang-thunk-thunk. "OK?"

Desmond bangs "OK," on the wall, his shoulders already vibrating with the strain. "EQ?" he asks, for _earthquake_ – do they feel the tremors too?

"BA?" his cell neighbour answers, which Desmond figures means the Big Bad.

Spelling out "RIOT, MB?" takes almost more energy than Desmond's has to give and he's left panting with the strain, leaning his bearded cheek against the concrete wall, waiting for a reply. It takes a while, and for his own comfort – because misery loves company – Desmond imagines the work of banging the wall is strain on his cell neighbour too.

"FS," is the reply he eventually gets, and Desmond frowns into the darkness. Eagle Vision is fading now, and he can't figure the message out. Fuck's sake? That's not helpful.

Then he feels it too, against his shoulder – rhythmic and faint, which in reality means heavy and strong. Footsteps – footsteps of someone armoured in concrete.

Without further warning, a hole is torn into his cell, a minuscule one, not big enough to get much through, except maybe a bit of fresh air – and mostly unhindered sound.

"A-attention," a nervous voice says just outside, gravelly but young, female. "Everyone, attention! There's – there's been a development, I, I'm here to inform you –"

There's banging, barely loud enough to hear, somewhere further down the pit – someone else banging their cuff on a wall, not Desmond's neighbour though – and the voice breaks off in a terrified squeak. Desmond wets his lips, pushing closer to the gap in the wall, and wishes he could muster up the energy to speak.

"D-director Augustine," the terrified prison guard says. "H-has been apprehended and – and DUP is going to be d-disbanded. Now I don't know what this means for you –"

More banging, from another source, loud and angry and insistent, and it almost makes the prison guard cry.

"I-it's likely that Curdun Cay will be s-shut down," the prison guard says. "There was an announcement – a-a Bio-terrorist – Conduit! On the television –"

The banging gets louder and Desmond slides down to sit on the floor beside the wall where the gap is, listening to the echoes greedily. There's a corridor out there, the echoes tell him, and though it sounds short, it leads somewhere. And, going by the banging, there's at least five others in the pit with him.

"I-I I'm here to tell you – I," the prison guard stops and then there's the sound of concrete grinding, shifting. "I'm going play the recording, okay, I'm going to –"

Banging, banging, banging, and then audio coming from too small speakers to carry properly when surrounded by this much concrete. The prison guard turns up the volume all the way to the highest setting and then there's other voices, distorted almost bad enough to be complete gibberish. She's playing it from her phone.

Desmond doesn't catch most of the start, it sounds like an announcer and there's white noise in the background, a crowd clamouring for attention. Then slightly louder the announcer calls, "... The stage to the man of the hour, Delsin Rowe!"

The tinny crowd cheers, and the sound echoes almost comically in the cave they're all in. The banging is stopping, though – everyone is listening now.

"Yeah, uh, hi?" a male voice says. "I mean – hello, Seattle! Holy shit there's so much more of you than I thought – hi! How are you all doing today?!"

More cheering, echoing. It sounds so alien here, like sounds coming from another world.

"Yeah, hi – please don't throw stuff at me, be a bad look if I ended up covered in panties in my first official appearance and all," Delsin Rowe says with a nervous laugh. "I, uh, have a statement – shoot, I forgot. Thank you, Mayor, for inviting me and not arresting me on the spot, very big of you, much appreciated – thank you for arranging this whole show. Who would've thought we'd ever end up here, huh? A Conduit, giving a public statement. It's a brand new day isn't it?"

More cheering, shouting, some screaming. There's a shout, barely audible, which sounds rude. Desmond's throat aches.

"Yeah, fuck you too, buddy," Delsin Rowe answers. "See if I fight crime in your neighbour hood. Anyway, statement, should get on that, yeah – we can do the insults and death threats sheet, and maybe even some questions, wouldn't that be fun, huh? Actually _asking_ people what they're on about, instead of throwing wild accusations around, what an outlandish notion! Okay, the Mayor is giving me the stink eye now, right, so, statement."

Desmond breathes in and out slowly, trying not to get his hopes up, trying not to think anything at all. His eyes are stinging now, and the voice of Delsin Rowe is flippant in his nervous confidence, and it's like a burst of sudden sunlight in the darkness, and Desmond thinks he'd do _anything_ just to keep the man talking. How long has it been since he's heard anyone talk this much? How long has it been since – _god..._

Delsin Rowe clears his throat. "Yesterday, Director Brooke Augustine of Department of Unified Protection was apprehended – by yours truly – and arrested for crimes of treason, unlawful detainment, _so many murders,_ torture, and whole fucking bucket loads of crimes against humanity – sorry, that bit was improvised. She has been detained by Seattle Police Department until further notice until we figure out what to do with someone like her, but the gist is, she's no longer in charge."

Desmond thinks he might be dreaming, having a nightmare. This feels like a nightmare – he's had several like this, which start so hopeful with promise of things changing and then end with him locked up in an even deeper pit, farther and farther from the sun than before.

"The official investigations to the many crimes of Former Director Augustine are still in going and probably it will take a while to figure everything out, but we know for a fact that she's caused the deaths of hundreds of people – non-Conduit people, most recently my own brother, Reggie Rowe, the lawfully elected sheriff of Salmon Bay."

Delsin Rowe's voice breaks there a little and Desmond's chest aches, his breathing coming out ragged now. His whole body feels like it's shaking.

"She's also tortured hundreds and hundreds of people with her concrete ability, a great majority of them regular, unpowered people, with no means to heal from something like that," Delsin Rowe continues over the background shouting. "Yeah, I'm not a fan either," he agrees. "So, whatever is going to happen to her now, she's not going to walk free in a very very long time, probably never, not after all she's done. And good fucking riddance, yeah?"

The guy's voice is drowned by the crowd for a moment while Desmond tries to calm down.

"So, to the fun part. What does this actually mean?" Delsin Rowe asks, with a grin in his voice and sudden burst of energy behind his words. "Well, I'll tell you. DUP will probably be disbanded – at least, they're no longer authorised to function in Seattle in any kind of official law enforcement capacity. So if you see any DUPes up to no good, you report that shit to the police, and if they can't take care of it, they'll call me and I damn well will. Seattle is _done_ with the DUP, am I right?!"

More cheering, louder.

"The concrete shit they put up all over the city will be coming down and the bridges will be repaired – probably by yours truly, I have a bit of a knack for it now," Delsin Rowe says, cocky and confident. "All the checkpoints, towers, holding cells, all the crap they put up will be taken down. Don't worry about the billboards, I got that covered."

Laughter now. Desmond is going to _cry._

"And finally – Curdun Cay Station," Delsin Rowe says, his voice going firmer, "is going to be shut down."

Somewhere in the caves, someone bangs their cuff against a wall, weak, feeble sound, and Desmond can't breathe.

"We Conduits aren't monsters, we aren't abominations, we aren't _Bio-terrorists_. We're just fucking people, who have found ourselves with these abilities, most of which we don't understand any better than your do! There's some bad ones out there, like Augustine, but there's good ones too – I showed you the good ones, and they did one hell of a job, didn't they? We're not all bad, and some of us could do some real good. And none of us, not you or us, deserves what the DUP did to us."

The crowd is silent, for a moment.

"Let's set this shit right, okay?" Delsin Rowe says. "We can be better than this. So let's be better."

The crowd bursts into cheers, the audio tearing and breaking until the video clip ends, and it's all Desmond can do to not break down. It's too much, it's way too much, he _can't_...

Somewhere in the darkness's someone bangs their cuff on the wall, once, twice, three times until it becomes a steady rhythm, and others join it. The DUP guard is running away, her footsteps heavy with the armour she's covered herself in, and no one cares. There are voices outside, distant and weak and worn with disuse, but Desmond can just about make out what they're saying.

Clang, clang, clang… Rowe, Rowe, Rowe…

Even Desmond's cell neighbour joins it, and through the little holes torn into their cells, Desmond can tell it's a woman, old, her voice like a rusty hinge. "Rowe," she whispers and clangs her cuff. " _Rowe_."

Rowe.

Desmond draws a deep breath that feels like it cuts him through the core and bangs his cuff on the wall. "Rowe," he mouths, his voice years past usable, and breaks into soundless, aching sobs.

 _Rowe_.

It sounds terribly like hope, doesn't it?


	2. Chapter 2

"Phoo-ey, what a DAY, man," Delsin groans while letting himself fall backwards, to lie on the rooftop on his back. It's all hard, cold metal underneath him, not exactly the softest cushion to land on, but he's used to it. Not the discomfort, exactly, but the lack of it – that nowadays hard metal is as comfortable as anything else. "You know, when I said I wanted to be world famous, I didn't think it would be this much work."

"I'm not sure you ever actually… said that," Fetch comments, sitting beside him, flickers of purple cushioning her the same way cinders are cushioning him.

"What – I must've. Like. All the time," Delsin says, squinting at the sky. "Been all I wanted since I was old enough to want anything – to be famous and to be a millionaire."

"… yeah, no, I can't remember it," Fetch says, crossing her ankles. "I mean it might've slipped out somewhere, it sounds like just the sort of stupid shit you'd be into –"

"Hey! It's not stupid, okay, _everyone_ wants to be famous –"

"But I can't remember you saying the exact words, like, ever," Fetch continues. "Too busy trying to not get shot at. Or actually getting shot at, and running away. Or, you know. _Not_." She hums. "Been hell of a time, hasn't it?"

Delsin sighs. "Yeah. Still can't really believe it's over."

"Except that it's not," Fetch comments and then glances over her shoulder, as blue static washes over them, followed by a gust of sharp wind. "Hey, Eugene," she says. "Or… Eugene's angel? D, how do you address these things?"

"Eh, I have no idea. I kinda just go with whatever comes to mind," Delsin says and cranes his head up to see. It is indeed an angel – a small one, but with enough definition that it's not one of the, uh, minion types? This one has more power behind it – he can almost see Eugene behind it's staticky face. "Hey, you're up late. Why don't you join us here on this fine rooftop? It's a nice night out."

"I am quite content in my domain," the angel answers, formal and slightly unreal, not like Eugene's real voice at all. "I witnessed your speech on the television."

"Yeah? What did you think of my delivery?"

"It was most stirring!"

Delsin snorts. It was not. He stuttered in places and the flashes of the cameras kept throwing him off his groove, it was a godawful mess, the whole thing. But he did get the message across, he hopes – and the good people of Seattle knew that the era of DUP was over in their fine, concrete laden city. And the concrete would be going away too. That one had actually gotten him a small cheer from the nervous public.

"Yeah," Delsin says and clears his throat. "It was really something, huh? Thanks for the thing, you know – for helping me write the actual speech and all. I probably would've screwed it up if I'd gone out there just winging it." Hell, he'd almost fucked it up anyway. Towards the end there, Eugene's notes and the prepared statement was his only lifeline to sanity.

Fetch snorts and the angel takes a pose, flickering and casting a brighter light around it – halo style. "It was my utmost pleasure to be of assistance!" the angel announces proudly. "And soon all of the city will know of your message!"

"He always talk like that?" Fetch asks quietly, looking between Delsin and the bright angel.

"Eh," Delsin says and crosses his hands behind his neck. "Kinda yeah, when in angel form. Anti-social shut-in with no communication skills, what can you do."

"That is quite rude," the angel says, disapproving

"You got your moments," Delsin grins and closes his eyes. Damn, he's tired. It feels like he hasn't had a break in months. "Gonna have to come outta hiding some time, Eugene – we're all heroes now, you know. People wanna meet you and your angels can't hog all the spotlight."

"It is as it is," the angel says, which is probably Eugene's way of saying that's how he prefers it – let the flashy Video illusions take the spotlight so that no one pays attention to the gamer behind the curtain.

"That's sad, man, _sad,_ I tell you," Delsin sighs. "There's like – fans out there. I've seen the signs. People dig the whole angels and demons thing – I bet if you went out, you could cash it all in for a different type of _game_ , if you know what I mean."

"Trials of heaven and hell are preferred," the angel says, somewhat disturbed. "Games of mortals hold little appeal."

"Uh-huh. Alright, then, you do you, I guess."

"Riight," Fetch says dubiously and then shakes her head. "So, what's next – you take down the concrete towers?"

Delsin hums, crossing one leg over the knee of the other, bouncing his foot in the air. "Yeah, I will, but… with DUPes no longer manning them it's not that immediate, you know? Should take care of Curdun Cay Station first, shouldn't we?"

Fetch tenses a little at that, frowning, and the angel behind them lets off a little burst of energy, flickering like a corrupted video frame. Neither says anything, and the silence is telling.

Delsin glances at Fetch and then at the angel. Yeeah, probably should've expected that reaction. "I can do it alone," he offers. "I mean – it's not like I need a guide to the place, it won't be hard to find." And from what he's heard, the place is solid concrete throughout – not exactly a problem to him, anymore.

"Yeah, um…" Fetch says, pulling her knees up. "You, uh… know much about Curdun Cay?"

"As much as anyone knows. I know there's like 300 Conduits locked up in there," Delsin says and sits up, leaning back on his hands. "And it's – you know… _fucked up_. Torture, forced training, experiments, and all that. I got some of your memories about the place – nothing detailed, but… yeah."

"Yeah," Fetch agrees, making a face. "Probably not a full story, that. Curdun Cay is…"

"Bad, yeah, but… I can handle it," Delsin says, looking at them. "You don't have to like… relive it, or go back, if you don't want to."

Fetch glances at the angel, and there's a burst of static snow and noise, and then the illusion pops like a power out, and suddenly it's Eugene standing there, shoulders hunched and head hooded and bowed. He looks nervous, as per usual, shifting his weight from one foot to another, looking like he wants to say something, and ultimately saying nothing.

"D," Fetch says quietly. "What's the plan for Curdun Cay?"

"I figure I let everyone go," Delsin says and shrugs. "I mean – what else can we really do, you know?" She doesn't answer immediately and the look on her face is troubled. Delsin frowns. "What? What don't I know this time?"

"Not all the Conduits there are – good. I mean," Fetch draws a breath and then releases it slowly. "There's over three hundred of them – they're not all as pure as the fresh driven snow. Hell, most of them aren't. Lot of them are – pretty damn messed up."

Delsin leans back a little and then crosses his ankles, sitting in lotus position. "You mean Augustine's experiments messed 'em up?"

"That too, but some of them were that way when they got in. And some of them are just, man… messed up in general," Fetch says and shakes her head. "There was this one, I was in a cell across from him for a bit – he had power over like… mercury. He used to inject it into people. For fun. Used to talk about it whenever I tried to sleep, how he'd given mercury poisoning to over a hundred people, that mother fucker."

"… oh," Delsin says, surprised. Well shit. "So, uh… some bad eggs in the bunch, huh? Guess I should've… thought of that."

Eugene nods, vehement. "Some of the Conduits in Curdun Cay are dangerous," he says quietly, shifting his footing again and then coming to sit beside them. "I… Augustine had me do like… she used me for danger assessment. Made me make illusions of people, DUP guards and civilians, and then she'd unleash the other Conduits on them, just to see what they'd do. And some of them – it was pretty bad."

"There are a lot of people in there who are like us," Fetch says. "They're just Conduits, and they were imprisoned for it. But some of them – there are real killers in there too. Real messed up assholes. And then there's the ones in the _Pit_."

"The what?" Delsin asks, while Eugene's shoulders hunch. "What's the Pit? A big hole of concrete, I'm guessing?"

"Yeah. Curdun Cay goes as deep as it goes high," Eugene agrees quietly. "The Pit is the deepest part of it, surrounded by concrete at all sides, several feet of it. That's where they keep the Conduits that even Augustine had a hard time controlling. They said they don't even have light down there, because she didn't want to risk giving anyone down there any energy."

Delsin kinda wants to make light of it, but at their expression he swallows what he's tempted to say and mutters quietly, "Well, crap," instead. "Uh, you know any of the guys down there? Know how many there were?"

Both of them shake their heads. "I think I saw one of them, once," Fetch says. "They moved them in a concrete casket, with no windows. I don't know if it even had air holes."

They're all quiet for a moment, Fetch and Eugene remembering, and Delsin trying to wrap his head around it. "So, uh, in summary… not as simple as I thought it would be. Great," he sighs and scratches the back of his head through his beanie. "Well, if push comes to shove, I got Augustine's powers pretty much down now, so… I can probably utilise whatever security measures she made." He'd really prefer not to, though.

"Should probably figure out what we're going to do about those guys, before we go there," Eugene murmurs. "DUP is going to get disbanded, and once it is, there won't be anyone left to guard the place. If there are still prisoners in there…"

"And some of those guys, I'd really rather not see out and about," Fetch agrees, casting Delsin a sidelong eye.

"Damn," Delsin murmurs and sighs. "Really didn't think I'd end up being a goddamn prison guard, that is like the opposite of what I meant to do. _Damnit_. Okay, lemme think about this for a moment…"

Curdun Cay Station would have to go down, there's no question about that. It was Augustine's monument of power, and just for sake of Conduits everywhere, it would have to go. No Conduit would ever trust Delsin, or the public, or the _government_ , if they kept it standing. But if there were still prisoners, Conduit prisoners, who would need to stay behind bars…

No normal prison would be able to hold them. Even with inhibitors, normal prisons would be cake walk for any decently strong Conduit to break out of. So there would have to be something else, something…

"Damn it," Delsin curses again and then snaps his fingers. "Eugene, that thing you did, in your little gamer cave – where I fought the, uh… He Who Dwells? What was that place – how did you make it?"

Eugene shifts, uncomfortable. "It's something Augustine taught me – or had me… develop, I guess," he admits. "I think for the same reason you're thinking of – as another form of prison. It never worked right, though – the few Conduits she tried to stick into virtual spaces, they eventually figured out how to break out, like you did."

"Any chance you could figure out how to make it more secure?" Delsin asks hopefully.

Eugene sighs. "Not really looking to become a prison guard either, Delsin," he murmurs. "But – if there's no other way, I guess I could try?"

"It would fit the theme," Fetch offers and Eugene gives her a confused look. "You know – angels, demons, imprisoning sinners, maybe even teaching them to change their ways? It would fit the theme you got going on, is what I'm saying."

Eugene blinks at that behind his glasses and then leans his head back, peering at the sky. "Huh," he says.

Delsin thinks awkwardly of Reggie and the fights they'd had over unlawful confinement and all that. None of them have the legal grounds to imprison anyone, not even under good Samaritan laws, but… _Conduits._ Your usual laws apply kinda sideways on them. And they are – or, more specifically, _he_ is – operating on a kind of grey area where it comes to Conduitness. Currently, in Seattle at least, he could probably get away with murder and no one would bat an eye.

It's an awkward place to be. Reggie wouldn't approve. But then again… Reggie never met a Conduit he didn't want to put in handcuffs, so, uh…

"I'm still not sure I could handle the people in the Pit," Eugene murmurs. "Even if I figured out a digital prison to keep them in."

"We'll burn that bridge when we get to it," Delsin decides and stands up. "Gotta concentrate on doing right by the good people before worrying about the bad ones – and uh… innocent until proven guilty should probably apply here too. I'm a Conduit Augustine couldn't handle either. Maybe the guys in the Pit aren't so bad – just strong."

And considering that some of those people had been locked up for _years_ , going through whatever Augustine threw at them… unless they had life sentences, Delsin would err on the side of _time served_ where he could.

Fetch and Eugene exchange a meaningful look. "I guess," Fetch then says. "But, D? Don't – don't take any chances, okay? Some of those guys, they could and probably _would_ do real damage to a lot of people, given the chance. Like… if you decided to go homicidal maniac on all of us, that kinda damage."

"Cheerful thought," Delsin says, stretching his arms and then looking at his Conduit buddies. "So, just so we're clear – you're… coming with me, after all?"

Eugene steels himself and Fetch's shoulders slump. "Yeah, I guess we are," she agrees. "But if anyone even so much as looks at us funny, I'm putting them on the ground. I've gotten a good handle on binding people – I'll freaking do it."

"Same," Eugene agrees, drawing a breath and standing up as well. "We won't take any shit from anybody."

Delsin puts a hand on his heart and coos. "Aww, look at you two, being all heroic and protective. I've taught you so well."

Fetch scoffs at him, smiling, and nearly punches him off the building, while Eugene shuffles his feet, looking pleased. Nerds, both of them.

* * *

The Mayor of Seattle – or more specifically, the People of Seattle, but the Mayor made it official because she didn't really have much choice – has invested Delsin with some powers. That was what the whole televised speech thing was about, mostly – Delsin accepting the proverbial Key to the City like some comic book superhero. Licence to do some things that would be illegal to most people and have them be considered legal and authorised under Whatever Laws That Currently Apply, and all that.

He is now legally authorised to vandalise the city, for example – hell, people are even considering his graffiti actual pay-money-for-it _art_ now, which is weird on a whole new level and makes the whole act of tagging things feel a bit off. He knows at least one piece which he'd done which had been removed – along with the wall it was attached to – and sold on the art market. 

He's also authorised to demolish things, like DUP bases, which is nice, not getting cops on his ass for doing his civic duty and all that. Not that there's that many of them left after his rampage through the city – mostly just the concrete ones Augustine built herself.

He can apprehend criminals and the police are happy to take them off his hands, which streamlines things a lot and also means he no longer has to run away from crime scenes. Fetch and Eugene also have this particular privilege, which Fetch is using to catch drug dealers and Eugene is using to corral DUPes who think they can still throw their weight around.

There are probably other things too, Delsin just hasn't figured out what he can get away with now. Except that is not really _getting away with_ anymore, is it, and also getting away with things isn't nearly as much fun when you have a permission to do it in the first place. Not that he'll miss being an infamous fugitive and a wanted Bioterrorist, but still… it does take some of the excitement out of things.

Seattle considers him a lawful upstanding citizen. It just doesn't sit right.

And then there's stuff like this.

Curdun Cay station is goddamn _massive_. Like, the crap Augustine built in Seattle was huge, but Curdun Cay is something else. The thing is taller than a skyscraper and constructed like a bunker for _giants_. Can't really say much for Augustine's architectural abilities, the thing is ugly as all hell, but it sure is impressive.

"I can see why no one ever escaped this place," Delsin comments. "Geez, you know how thick those walls are?"

"Six to eight feet on the outside, and inside every room is up to four feet thick," Eugene says faintly – he's standing flanked by angels, and he still looks nervous. "The only thing is, it's not reinforced by rebar, but then, it doesn't have to be."

"Yeah, no kidding. Building concrete that thick," Delsin whistles. "Damn, that woman was scary. I bet she could've made killer in construction."

"Sure, if it wasn't illegal. Thinking of alternate career opportunities?" Fetch asks, her hands flickering with neon. "You could build this too, right?"

"Nah, not like this," Delsin admits. "Hell, I don't even know where to begin, building structures like she did. Should probably get on it, since I did promise I'd help to rebuild the bridges…"

They're quiet for a moment, staring at the colossal concrete fortress in front of them.

"Think you can crack it open?" Eugene then asks.

"Yeah," Delsin agrees. "Should do, but, uh. Dunno where, exactly – I mean, it would probably be bad if I broke open a cell block or something. Where's the entrance?"

Eugene and Fetch share a look, and then Eugene does something, his hand flickering with a screen tear. A moment later there's a hologram thingy hovering over his hand, a 3D model of Curdun Cay.

"Oh, awesome," Delsin says approvingly.

"Not really – it's probably not accurate. Augustine changed the layout all the time, making it random – so that no one should ever make an accurate map to try and escape," Eugene says. "But the outer wall and the inner structures are usually a bit separate for extra security – and here, these things?" He motions to the towers in the corners. "They work like portcullis – two walls Conduits with concrete can open, one at a time."

"No normal doors in this place, huh? Just concrete walls," Delsin muses. "Man, that's depressing."

"Yeah, try living in it," Fetch mutters and motions to the nearest tower. "Come on, let's go knock."

"We should have a plan first," Eugene says nervously and clears his throat. "And I uh have an idea – I think we should split up."

Delsin does a double take. "What? Eugene, man, we came all the way here –"

"I mean – Augustine had an observatory," Eugene says quickly. "A watch station – place in the station she could observe all the camera feeds and keep an eye on everyone. There's probably files on all the prisoners there too – one of us should go there to check it out, so that we can coordinate this better."

"And by someone you mean _you_ ," Fetch guesses.

"Of the two of us, I got to know how the place is run better," Eugene shrugs uneasily. "I was here the longest. It makes sense – and, you know. Videos and cameras."

Delsin hums thoughtfully. "Could you send your angels out from this observatory?" he asks. "Through the videos and cameras? We might need the extra security."

"Yeah, sure thing," Eugene says, breathing a sigh of relief. "I can do that, no problem."

"Okay – we find Augustine's watch station first, and then go from there," Delsin says. "We sort out the prisoners to the ones who are for sure innocent and the ones with rap sheets, and then – then we work our way through the rest. Okay?"

"Okay," Fetch says quietly and with a slight shudder Eugene nods.

"Alright," Delsin says and turns to the concrete, reaching out a hand to drain it all in. "Let's crack this rock, shall we?"


	3. Chapter 3

It's harder to hold onto things in the darkness. Hope, confidence, strength, sense of time, even the sense of direction, the dark leeches it all out. Stare out to the pitch black for long enough and it takes away things, it puts new things in front of you, teasing your senses with half imagined horrors until you don't know what's what anymore.

The Pit is like a deep underground cave, completely void of light, of breath of air, there aren't really even proper echoes, because the walls are uneven and eat up sound. It was designed that way, a total sensory deprivation in as many levels as possible. It was designed to be horrible.

Desmond thinks it was designed to break them.

"There were – others," his cell neighbor whispers, her voice a little stronger, but still sounding a little like old, grinding metal, rather than human voice. "I heard them – sensed them. They – put more people in here, Conduits. But they didn't – didn't handle it."

Desmond blinks rapidly, standing on his knees by the hole torn into his cell, ear pressed up against it. The corridor outside is dark, but there are other prisons out there, taking in quiet, weary whispers. There's a layer of hair in the way, which with his hands shackled he has no means to push back, and it's muffling the sound, but he can _hear_ them.

His own voice isn't working, so he still uses Morse code, tapping the bulky inhibitor cuff against the wall – thankfully, it doesn't take full banging to carry any more, doesn't use up all his strength. "WE DO?"

His neighbour lets out a creak of a laugh. "We're still here, aren't we?" she whispers. "We still talk – as much as we – can. We still hope. Haven't broken yet. The others did, within days, hours. Couldn't – hold it together – in the dark."

Yeah. Solitary confinement is a bitch.

Desmond rests his forehead against the concrete wall and tries to think what to say. Should ask her name, but – but knowing it would be worse than not knowing it, if it turned out they weren't getting out of here after all. It had been hours since the DUP guard had let them listen to Delsin Rowe's speech, and nothing had changed since. 

Hope is a thing with feathers – and it's already flown out.

"How long have – you been here?" Desmond's cell neighbor asks. "You were here – before me. How long?"

Desmond closes his eyes, hesitating, not sure he even wants to know. Just by his hair growth he knows it's been a damn long time, but... With shaking arms, he taps out, "YR?"

His cell neighbor tells him, and for a long moment after Desmond's mind draws a total blank. It doesn't compute, it barely even registers.

It's been seven years. It's been _seven years._ He'd known it'd been years, it had felt like fucking decades, but he'd hoped it was just the long hours making things seem longer. It's not like the day and night in the pit to keep track of time. He'd thought, he'd hoped….

Seven years, and no one came for him. Either Augustine Brooke's prison was the greatest on Earth, no one knows where he is, maybe not even if he's alive... or they were – they might be –

It takes effort to not hyperventilate. Thankfully, he's almost too exhausted to, and even as the panic wells up, it dries out, and Desmond just slumps against the wall, gasping shakily for breath.

"You okay?" His cell neighbor asks worriedly.

Desmond almost laughs and taps out "NO," and then, swallowing. "7YR."

"Well, fuck," she answers. "You must be – one of the first – prisoners here, then."

The place wasn't a prison when Abstergo handed him over – just a base in the mountains with cells and labs. It didn't even have walls, and the concrete wasn't so thick. It was almost nice.

The walls started getting higher and the cells deeper with each escape attempt, though. With him refusing to cooperate, the lights-out periods got longer. Eventually, they stopped putting lights in his cells entirely. Eventually, his cell stopped having a door. Eventually, there was nothing but the dark.

"It's been three years for me," his cell neighbor says quietly. "And before that – four months in the prison block. I tried to escape – eighteen times. Almost succeeded. Then it was – solitary and finally – the Pit."

Desmond lost track of how many times he'd tried. Not that it matters anymore.

"I wanted to get back – to my grandchildren," his cell neighbor whispers. "I just wanted to – to go back home…"

Desmond taps his shackles in sympathy and for a long moment they say nothing, sitting silent in the darkness, alone and hanging onto that thinnest tether of connection. The others are still whispering, a word or two loud enough for Desmond to tell that there's at least one other man out there, but mostly they're too distant, too faded. The pitch black tries to turn the voices in the dark into something terrible and threatening, more nameless, faceless horrors… but it's easier to push that aside. They're just people, other prisoners, desperately grasping at a connection, same as them, same as him.

All lost in the darkness, together.

And then he feels it, the concrete vibrating against his forehead – movement above. 

"Feel that?" she whispers. "It's starting. It _must_ be starting."

Desmond sighs and they wait.

And wait.

_And wait._

* * *

Abstergo couldn't hold him. They tried – they chained him, trapped him, drugged him, they did _everything_ they could, but it didn't hold him for long. Add to that the fact that his blood wasn't doing what they wanted anymore and that they couldn't force him to do what they wanted either, maybe they eventually figured there was no point. Or maybe the property damage got too high. He must've fried half a dozen Animuses and who knows how many computers before they stopped trying to fish for Isu knowledge out of the soup his genes had become. Whatever the Grand Temple did to him, it wasn't going away, and it wasn't quantifiable. And so Abstergo had no use for it, for him, anymore.

He made hell of a bargaining chip for whatever deal they wanted with the military, though – and for DUP, once it was established. Desmond wonders if they ever regretted that – giving him up like that. Probably not.

He still dreams about it, though – all the what ifs. What if Abstergo had kept him, what if the Assassins had found him, what if he would've managed to escape back then, when he'd been kept in rooms, not in cells or cages or caves. What if, what if, what if.

What if Lucy had lived, what if she hadn't been a traitor, what if. She would've figured it out. She would've known what to do. Desmond can't even remember what she looked like anymore, but he still dreams about killing her, over and over. Sometimes it's with a knife. Sometimes it's with _power._ She's a faceless woman with blond hair, sometimes done up and sometimes not, and in his dreams he's killed her a thousand times.

Honestly, he prefers the dreams where he gets to relive Ezio's family's deaths over and over – and how ironic it is, that he still remembers Federico's and Petruccio's faces... but not Lucy's, or Shaun's, or Rebecca's?

Desmond remembers his dad's face, but not his own or Clay's.

He's _so tired_. All the time.

He wakes up exhausted and confused, his neck aching and the side of his face numb from where it was pressed against the wall, hair plastered all over it – and there's something stabbing his eyes through closed eyelids.

_Light._

It's shining out of the hole torn into his cell by the DUP guard – there's light in the concrete hallway outside, white and blue and purple, flickering, _devastating._ And it's moving, getting brighter, closer.

Desmond stares into the gap through a layer of frizzy hair hanging over his face, his eyes wide and straining, until he can't anymore, until his eyes tear up and he has to look away. Red spots dance before his vision, making the darkness pulse, and he knows if he tried to use Eagle Vision now, it would probably knock him out.

The power that _radiates_ out of the hall is overwhelming.

"Well, I'm here," a voice says,, and Desmond's heart skips a beat before lurching painfully into _pounding._ "And I think – yeah. There's six of them, two this side, two over there and two there. Eugene, is there any way to tell who's who? There's no signs down here, no numbers, nothing."

"... Breaking… can't hear… too deep… will check… connection…"

"Aww shit," Delsin Rowe murmurs. "Just my luck. Okay, now what…"

There's a moment of breathless, horrifying silence as Desmond tries to look into the light and can't – and then he's completely knocked off his ass, as the wall in front of him is cracked open and long vertical holes are pulled into it – turning solid concrete into a wall of concrete bars instead.

The first noise Desmond makes in years is a cry of pain, before he folds over on his knees, trying to bury his face in his shackled arms and in his hair to cover his suddenly burning eyes. He can still feel the all-consuming light in front of him, washing over him, almost oppressive in its brightness – it's like being on the receiving end of an ongoing explosion, only steady, the shockwave constant roll _._

"Whoa, shit – what?"

Judging by the cries coming from elsewhere, Desmond isn't the only one who's cell just got busted wide open – nor the only one who's being blinded by the light. Someone even begs, "Turn it off, _turn it off_!" but the light stays, just as blinding, if not more so.

"Fuck – okay, not the reaction I was expecting," Delsin Rowe says somewhere in the explosion of light. "Hang on – sorry, Eugene, gotta get rid of your buddies here..." 

There's a grinding noise and a _flash_ that makes Desmond flinch and press his head to the floor – and then the blue and white light dies down a bit, sputtering out in torn flickers. Immediately, it's less bright. "Is that better?" Rowe asks, dimming, dimming, becoming almost manageable.

Desmond is still blind from the previous burst, and Delsin Rowe still feels like the sun glaring down on him, but he looks up anyway, blinking and squinting until he can see something.

The cells in the pit are arranged in a triangle, and Rowe is standing in the middle, his shape a blur to Desmond's still burning eyesight. There's flickers of light dancing around the man's hands, and even though they're tiny compared to the previous blasts of light, they still draw gashes into Desmond's vision, burning themselves into his abused retinas.

"This place has done a number on you guys, huh? Damn," Delsin Rowe mutters, looking around. "So much for humane treatment of prisoners. Can any of you, like – speak? Anyone?"

"Y-yes?" Desmond's cell neighbor croaks out. Some others give affirmative too, as much as they can – everyone sounding like they're in pain, but trying desperately to push through it.

"Okay, good, excellent," Rowe says, looking around awkwardly. "I'm going to need some names, your cells don't exactly have name plates. Though I'm guessing you would be Roselyn McKinnon?"

He's pointing to Desmond's cell neighbor.

"That's me, yes," she hushes. "You're – Delsin Rowe?"

"You've heard about me?" Rowe asks, surprised.

"A guard played your speech – to us. We've been – waiting."

"Well, uh, good things come to those who wait," Rowe says uneasily and then makes a move with his hand, grabbing the air. There's more flickers and dust flying around his fingers, _stone_ dust, and as he tugs his hand down like tearing something, there's the telltale groan of concrete coming down. "Alright, come on, Roselyn, come on out."

Desmond holds his breath, his knees aching as he kneels there, on the floor, as he finally, after so many years, sees the person he'd been communicating in the dark with.

She's so small and _old,_ her dark skin turned nearly grey, her hair a white cloud around her head. She's all skin and bones, the jumpsuit hanging off her shoulders like from a clothing hanger, she's so thin _._

She's _beautiful_.

She's also looking at him, smiling a painfully wide smile with teeth missing, her eyes dark and bloodshot. "Hi," she mouths, and Desmond's eyes tear up, his chin trembling under his beard hard enough to make it twitch.

"Can you tell me where you're from, Roselyn?" Delsin Rowe asks.

"Los – Los Angeles," Roselyn says shakily and turns to him. "I taught – I taught in – a community college. I was – I didn't do anything _wrong_ –"

"Yeah, no, you didn't," Delsin Rowe agrees, giving her a sympathetic look. "I've seen your file. You found yourself with powers, and the DUP captured you because of them, right? Well, don't worry, that's not a bad thing anymore, and you're getting outta here. It's over now, Roselyn, it's going to be okay."

Roselyn nods, shaking in every limb, and lifts her shackled hands, the inhibitor cuff almost too heavy for her bony arms to lift. "This?" she pleads.

"It's gonna come off – you just gotta hang on for a moment, okay, Roselyn? Just hang on for a bit, I gotta deal with the others down here too," Delsin says and turns to look at these other cells. "Okay, you there, what's your name?"

Jack Dyer, who has nearly as bad a prison beard as Desmond, Mihaela Paddon and Emil Marshall are also released from their cells with all of Rowe's understanding and sympathy, their only crimes being having power and trying to escape repeatedly. Then Rowe hesitates over Karena Wade a bit.

"It says in your file that you killed people," he says warily and Desmond's stomach _sinks_.

"I didn't mean to!" Karena cries out. "I didn't, I was just trying to protect myself! They tried to – they tried to take me away, they tried to _do_ things – I was just defending myself! I didn't mean for them to die!"

Rowe hums. "If I let you out of there, you won't attack anytime else with your power?"

"I – I don't want to – I don't mean to," Karena says miserably. "Sometimes I can't control it."

"Yeah, I bet," Rowe muses. "Radiation, huh? Your power can kill people just for standing next to you, can't it?"

Karena's shoulders slump and she sniffles, "I don't mean to. I never meant to. I'm sorry – please. I don't want to hurt anyone… God please, I'm not a bad person, please, don't leave me down here…"

"Okay," Rowe says, but with a warning in his tone. "I'm holding you to that – that you won't hurt anybody. We'll figure something out for your powers, a way for you to control them – don't worry, Karena, if you really mean it when you say you don't want to hurt anybody… then you're okay in my books."

Karena is sobbing gratefully when Rowe lets her out, hanging her head. "Thank you, thank you, _thank you…_ "

Then Rowe turns to the last still locked cell. "So," he says, slow and guarded. "That leaves just you. Desmond Miles... right?"

Desmond shoulders slump. Fuck.

"Your record is pretty impressive," Rowe says while beside him Roselyn looks at Desmond, and that's almost worse, the sudden doubt in her eyes.

" _Please,_ " Desmond tries to say, but no sound comes out, the guy probably can't even tell he was trying to talk.

"They called you a terrorist before you even turned into a Conduit," Rowe says and Desmond shudders. "According to your file, you killed a _lot_ of people."

Desmond shakes his head, sighing. It's not like he can defend himself – he _had_ killed people, after all, no denying that… and he can't even speak up to explain what actually happened.

"You got anything to say about that?" Rowe asks.

Desmond opens his mouth and the best he can do is a _wheeze_ that cuts at his throat and makes him cough. Rowe's expression twists a little and he looks away, as Desmond nearly doubles over again, shivering and trying not to lose it. He's already fucked – having a breakdown wouldn't make his situation any better.

"He can't talk," Roselyn says quietly. "He's been here the longest."

"Right," Rowe mutters. "And his power is…" he trails away and Desmond waits, feeling everyone in the Pit staring at him. He tries to bring himself to look up, but he can't, he _can't_ , can't face the looks…

Fuck, this is pathetic.

There's a groan of concrete and Desmond flinches, squeezing his eyes shut, expecting darkness. Instead he gets footsteps, rubber soles on concrete, and then there's shoes in front of him, sneakers. Delsin Rowe is standing in front of him.

Maybe he's going to kill Desmond, make the whole thing easier for everyone. Honestly, Desmond isn't sure he'd even mind. Death would probably be preferable to –

Flickers of power and concrete dust surround him, and Desmond draws a quick, deep breath, bracing himself for it.

And then energy floods into him, pouring out of Rowe's Concrete and into Desmond's every pore. It feels like being bombarded with something warm and invisible, being surrounded, _cloaked_ in it. It lifts Desmond off the floor and to his feet and _infuses_ into him _._ He's left coughing and gasping in shock, his hair floating every which way, feeling better and stronger than he has in years.

What the _fuck_ was that?

Delsin Rowe watches him closely as Desmond gapes at him in shock. "That better? Think you can speak now?"

"Y-yes," Desmond says, and it doesn't tear at his throat at all. It even makes a _sound._ He can _speak_ again. "I can. I – _thank you_."

Rowe nods, still watching him warily – everyone's watching him. "So. Let's try this again. Why did you kill those people?" Rowe asks.

Desmond swallows and it doesn't hurt either. "They'd kidnapped my dad," he says, and though his voice has a sound now, it's not particularly strong. "I was rescuing him. I'm not a terrorist, I swear, I'm _not_."

For a moment Rowe just eyes him silently, dark eyes narrowed, searching, trying to figure him out. Desmond meets them as levelly as he can through the curtain of hair he still can't push back, wishing he had something better to offer, something more convincing, but it's not like truth is much better than the fiction Abstergo cooked up. Saying he's an Assassin instead probably wouldn't win him many brownie points here.

"You won't hurt anyone, okay?" Rowe says quietly. " _No one_ , not on my watch – I will put you down if you do. You get me?"

Desmond nods slowly. "Yes, sir." 

Rowe eyes him a moment longer and then nods. "Alright," he says and turns to the others. "Right – let's blow this joint, then. Everyone follow me – and mind your eyes, it's pretty bright out there. You, Desmond, you stick close to me, I'm gonna keep an eye on you."

"Yeah – yes," Desmond says and then stumbles after Rowe, almost tripping over his feet. His legs are suddenly a lot stronger than he expects them to be, and the amount of effort it takes to walk is so much less than he's used to – whatever Rowe did to him, it went a long way to repairing damage of years spent without exercise. It's incredible.

It didn't restore him all the way through – halfway down the corridor Desmond feels the strain again, on his knees, on his elbows, the weight of the inhibitor cuff starting to wear again. He's wavering a little by the time they come to stairs and going to then is almost too much – and it doesn't help that that's light pouring down from above, growing brighter with each step until it's blinding, until he can't see…

But he can feel. Oh, the light, he can feel it.

There's a hand on his shoulder, the first touch he's felt in so long, it's _scalding_ – Rowe, roughly steering him the last few steps and then... then there it is.

The sun.

It's almost directly above, shining brightly down on him, _choking_ him, taking away all his senses, leaving him wavering. He can feel it seeping into him, the rays sinking into his flesh, into his veins, into every cell – energising him throughout, filling him to the brim, healing every broken crack in him. The sun. The _sun._ Desmond had almost forgotten what it felt like. Oh, God, the _sun_.

After years in the darkness, Delsin Rowe brought him out to the sunlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah, Desmond's a conduit in this. Just so you're aware.


	4. Chapter 4

"That's them?" Fetch asks, nodding to the group of still shackled prisoners. "They… don't really look like much."

They really don't. The max sec prisoners from the Pit look – well, there's no nice way to put it, really. They look kinda _pathetic_. They're sort of hobbling around, squinting at everything, blinded by the sunlight pouring on the cracked fortress – making Delsin wonder if he maybe should've brought them up to the surface somewhere indoors, where they could have some shade to start with. How they all look doesn't really help with the looking-sorta-pathetic thing, because they're all thin, _starved_ sorta thin.

The terror on the faces of the DUP guards and the hushed way the other Conduits spoke of the Pit kinda makes the whole thing seem ridiculous. But at the same time…

"Solitary confinement, man," Delsin mutters and shakes his head. It just isn't right, even when you're talking about super powerful Conduits. "It just fucks you up, huh."

Even the guy he's worried about the most, Desmond, looks completely incapacitated – he's swaying where he stands, blindly staring at nothing, looking deathly pale under all the hair – and there's seriously _so much hair_. As Delsin and Fetch watch, the guy wavers and then collapses on his ass on the broken concrete, his shackled hands in his lap as he just sits there, listless.

"So, we're done getting most everyone out of here," Fetch says. "It's just these guys and the guys Eugene took care of – there's one more bus to go. How do you want to do this, D?"

"I think to start with we're gonna give these guys a moment," Delsin says and scratches at his hairline through his beanie before glancing up – he can hear a chopper. "Reporters?"

"Yeah – Eugene's got an eye on them," Fetch agrees. "They're playing catch up, but the break in is already on the news. Nothing from the government or the military yet, though."

"Here's hoping they'd sit this show out, it's crowded enough already," Delsin mutters, watching the news chopper cross over the site, casting lights on the devastation. Then, curiously, he takes out his phone, glancing at the chopper to check the channel and then opening their website.

DELSIN ROWE TAKES OUT CURDUN CAY STATION: WATCH LIVE FOOTAGE OF THE STATION DEMOLITION.

Damn. Curdun Cay Station looks much improved, with the top blown off and the tower toppled over. They might've been a _bit_ hasty with the destruction, but damn if it hadn't been satisfying. It had definitely sent a message, too, not just online and across the newsphere, but to the Conduits who'd been there, who'd gleefully taken part in the destruction. Once they'd be done here, collapsing the rest of the structures and filling in the Pit, there'd be no _repurposing_ the facility.

There would be no capturing the Conduits again, no bringing the situation _under control_ , none of that shit. It might've gone down a little more chaotic than Delsin had originally intended, and maybe they hadn't exactly asked anyone's permission, but… yeah. It was damn cathartic, seeing the place cracked open like a festering cyst.

Heh, you can see the DUPes running on the footage – Fetch had taken out their vehicles while they'd _confiscated_ the buses, and so there's just a conga line of dumbasses, limping along the road.

"Delsin Rowe?" the old woman from the Pit asks, her voice rougher than sandpaper. "What will happen to us now?"

Delsin glances at her. "Well," he says. "We crack those shackles off you, you make solemn promises not to do anything bad or break any laws, all that good stuff… and so as long as you hold to that promise, you're good."

"We can just walk out of here?" Jack Dyer asks, resting his shackled hands on top of his head, shielding himself from the sunlight.

"That's the idea – most everyone have already left. We got buses," Delsin motions to them. "Which can take you to the nearest city, or drop you off somewhere along the way. Most everyone here went their own way, though."

Which was probably both the smartest, safest way to go – and the stupidest. Scattered they were harder to find, but easier to pick off – together they'd make a huge easy target, but they'd be stronger. Pros and cons – in the end Delsin hadn't wanted to force anyone to do anything they didn't want to, and had let everyone go. Well, everyone except a few select individuals who would bear… further consideration.

"Being a Conduit isn't a crime anymore – or, at least… not a crime anyone smart enough is going to try to imprison anyone for," Fetch says and pats her chest with her fist. "We took care of that."

"So, so as long as everyone behaves and no one does anything _stupid,_ " Delsin adds. "I think you, and we, we're all going to be okay. So, yeah. You can just walk out of here. After I give you all my number. Which I hope you will call if you need anything."

"Huh," Jack Dyer says, glancing at Karena, who is standing a little further away from everyone, holding her cuffed hands against her chest. "And our, uh… powers? Can we use 'em?"

"So as long as you don't break any laws, yeah," Delsin says and sighs. "I mean, no one _normal_ probably can stop you if you go about breaking laws with your powers, so, it's not like you _can't_ , but, like… if you do, I will probably have to come after you. Or send someone after you. And I'd really rather not come after you."

"You some kinda big shot then?" Jack asks, squinting at him and pulling back his hair to see better. "Yer skinny."

"I – excuse _you,_ have you seen yourself in the mirror? _I'm skinny_ , psh," Delsin scoffs. "Also, I am _so_ a big shot now. I am a big huge deal. I kicked Augustine's ass, for one. So I can probably kick yours too, if you decide to get uppity."

Fetch snorts, not looking at him.

"Not getting uppity, just – trying to scope this out," Jack says, shaking his head slowly. "Is there like… an organisation, or... Anything? Conduit – program?"

Delsin makes a face. "There probably should be, huh?" he mutters and shakes his head. It had been _implied_ in the few official gatherings head taken part in, even the Mayor had spoken about _your people_ with Delsin, and she didn't just mean Conduits in general. Your people, as in, people who work with you, or under you, or in a general vicinity of your work.

And it was _heavily_ implied that, as the big damn hero with the key to Seattle and all… Delsin would be the head figure of _his people_.

"So there ain't one?" Jack clarifies flatly.

"Okay, no, not exactly, but… everyone needs to play nice for a while, or they answer to me. Both sides," Delsin says. "Us Conduits and them Non-Conduits alike. Everyone is either cool, or I'm going to have to do something to _make_ people cool." And he'd really rather not, but, eh. He was kinda getting good at putting people down to the ground, so…

"… that ain't much to go on," Jack comments.

"But maybe it's enough," Roselyn says, clearing her throat, watching Delsin with something like calculation in her eyes. "Maybe it's a… start of something."

Yeah, a lot of the other Conduits had seemed to think that too. That something was _starting_. And that Delsin was at the centre of it. Which he kind of was, but, man. He's not sure he signed up to be the head of all Conduits out there – or even all the Conduits of Curdun Cay Station. Someone had even thrown around the words _Second Era of Conduits_. Now that was some scary stuff.

"Either way, everyone goes free," Delsin says, and then amends. "Most everyone goes free. Few guys need like, review and psych evals and stuff, but everyone with no gross stuff or murder on their rap sheets go free. Karena, Desmond –"

"We stay?" Karena asks quietly,

"You come with us," Delsin says. "We'll figure stuff out, about your powers, and – the other stuff. That okay?"

Karena looks down at her hands and then lifts the shackles a little. "Can these come off?"

"Depends if they're the only thing keeping you from accidentally frying us with radiation or not," Delsin says apologetically. "Are they?"

"I… don't know."

Delsin sighs, torn – the woman looks so wretched, it seems mean to keep her in the shackles when she obviously doesn't mean harm, but at the same time… "Just hold on for a moment, okay? There might be alternatives," he offers. "Maybe an inhibitor vest?"

"… yeah, I'd like that better."

Desmond Miles says nothing – it's hard to say if he's even listening, with all the hair in the way. He's got his face lifted up now, facing the sun, and as Delsin squints at him to see if the guy's fallen asleep sitting down or something, he can just barely see flickers of light under the man's skin, sparks of gold tracing down his cheek like tears, disappearing in his beard.

… the guy is drawing power even _through_ the inhibitor cuff's containment field.

Delsin glances at Fetch, but she's on her phone and doesn't seem to have noticed. Turning back to Desmond, Delsin watches the golden sparks trail down the guy's prominent cheekbones which… actually don't even look that bony anymore. His cheeks don't look as hollow either. It's not a _lot_ of power he's drawing, but he's definitely drawing power, bit by bit – it's already healing him.

The guy's file did say that he was one of the strongest Conduits Augustine had ever contained. A Conduit of _solar radiation_. Only thing was, she'd never gotten him to exhibit it – the lines in his file, usually filled with attacks and abilities, were all blank. The guy had never played ball with Augustine's little training program – all the while trying to escape Curdun Cay almost thirty times. It's almost impressive. It's also really worrisome.

Delsin's phone rings with the opening theme of _Heaven's Hellfire,_ and without looking at it Delsin answers. "Yeah, Eugene?"

"My angels are gone – what happened? Did those guys attack them?"

"They were blinding the Conduits so I popped them," Delsin answers and looks around until he spots Eugene, flickering in the shadows, invisible to everyone except Delsin. "What's up? Fetch said you were watching the chopper. Did something else turn up?"

"Not yet, but there's a lot of chatter," Eugene says. "Military types, scrambling to decide whether or not they need to contain this or not, while there's still a chance they might be able to capture some of us. I think it's only a matter of time – we maybe need to move. Uh, do I need to, you know… send any of those guys into the Purgatory?"

Delsin considers Karena, then Desmond, who looks like he's either falling asleep or maybe meditating, and then decides to err on the side of not being a dick. "I think we're good. Are we good, guys?"

"Be a bit better without these," Jack says, shaking his cuff. "Can we get these off now?"

"Yeah. Eugene, can you go cover the buses? Me and Fetch will finish up here, and meet you there." Delsin says to the phone.

"You got it," Eugene says, and hangs up, his flickering shape heading off, towards the broken entrance of the fortress.

"Right," Delsin says to Fetch. "Do you think you could find an inhibitor vest for Karena? I'll crack everyone out of their cuffs in the meanwhile."

"If you're sure," Fetch says and pushes her phone into her pocket. "Shouldn't take long. But, you're sure, D? Even, you know…" she glances towards Desmond.

Delsin considers the Solar Conduit and then hums. Desmond's skin is starting to look a little less pale, and the streaks of light under his skin are getting more visible. "Yeah, I'll – figure it out. Find the vest and meet us by the bus, okay?"

"Yeah."

Of the six Max Sec prisoners, only two decide to take off on their own. Mihaela Paddon and Emil Marshal knew each other and had been planning their escape from Curdun Cay for the better part of two years, even before they'd been thrown into the Pit – the moment they have their hands free, they're off, hesitating only long enough to take Delsin's phone number and promise that they'd be in touch once they had their feet under them.

Delsin can just hope they wouldn't do anything drastic with their newfound freedom – they were both kinda wild around the eyes, looking a little more than crazy. But with no previous criminal records, aside from repeated escape attempts from Curdun Cay… there was no reason to keep them. But still, Steam and Lava – kinda terrifying combination, if those two decided to go bad.

The others head to the buses without much complaint – even Jack, who Delsin is getting a sort of _authority_ vibe from, and who seems to be pretty critical of everything he's seeing. Roselyn still speaks in low, hushed, throaty whispers, but there's a sharp, keen look in her dark eyes, as she gets on the bus, like she means business. Karena is looking frankly even _worse_ in the yellow inhibitor vest, but at least her thin hands are free, and that seems to put her at ease. Desmond…

Desmond had just shrugged when Delsin had sort of suggested that maybe the cuff could stay a while, and then he'd wandered after Delsin like some kind of terrifying but semi-loyal puppy – he even sat when Delsin told him to sit. Why that was the thing that bothered Delsin the most, he's not sure, but something about having this terrorist guy with potentially _super_ strong Conduit power act all meek, it just put Delsin on edge.

But everyone got on the bus, joining the other Conduits from slightly less-high security parts of the prison, all of whom then looked up to Delsin for guidance and reassurance.

"Right, okay, so," Delsin says, awkward, and clears his throat. "I'm gonna be honest with you – Seattle is probably the best place for Conduits right now, we got the public on our side thanks to kicking the DUP out, but that doesn't mean it's going to be easy, okay? There's no place to go, no facility waiting for us, no shelter – hell, I'm the most famous Conduit since Cole, and I sleep mostly on rooftops. It's not gonna be a cakewalk."

No one says anything, they just stare at him – even Desmond is coming out from his sun-drugged stupor.

"So, if you wanna change your mind, at any point, and go your own way… I totally get it," Delsin says, wincing because – some of these Conduits are _kids_. There's one who's like _eight_. Where the hell else can they go? "But… I'll try doing right by you. Somehow. Dunno how yet, but… I'm gonna try."

Still no answer, though there's some murmuring in the back. Delsin waits a beat and then pats the pale, sweating DUP bus driver on the shoulder. "Alright then. Let's get going. Next stop, Seattle," he says and moves to the door.

"Wait, where are you going? Aren't you coming with us?" one of the Conduits asks, scared.

"Me, Fetch and Eugene – that's the angel dude – we're going to ride on top. So that if anything happens…" like, say, Military or DUPes staging an attack on a semi-slow moving target… "We can take care of it easier. It's for security. Okay? We're still gonna be here, no one's leaving you."

With that said, Delsin slips out of the bus and hops onto the roof, where Fetch and Eugene are already waiting. Thunking his fist against the roof twice, Delsin sits down beside them, and under them the bus rolls into life, headlights turning on, their gaze aimed for Seattle.

"So," Delsin says, glancing between Eugene and Fetch. "How'd we do?"

"Public has mixed feelings, as does the Mayor – she doesn't dare to either approve or disapprove, and just said that it was an _unauthorised action by the Hero, Delsin Rowe,_ " Eugene reports. "So, take that as you will."

"I think we did as good as we could," Fetch says, pulling her knees up and then planting her hands on the metal roof for balance, as the bus rolls over some rubble. "You sure about the Pit guy, the terrorist? He's an _actual_ terrorist, D, which, you know, considering what people _still_ call us…"

Delsin shrugs. "I dunno. I got a – feeling, about him," he says, uncomfortable. It was kinda hard to see him as dangerous, after having made the guy flinch so many times. He's pretty sure Desmond though he'd be killed off, for a moment there. It was just… it was a bit too much, for Delsin. "I dunno. Guess we will have to see. If he does anything, that's on me – and I'll deal with it. okay?"

"You better. Pretty sure Solar beats Neon, seeing that it comes from the freaking _sun,_ " Fetch says uncomfortably. "Maybe you should take his power, D, just in case. That way if he does try something… you got his tricks up your sleeve, too."

Well… it's definitely an idea. A tempting one too, having read some of Augustine's comments on the guy. A lot of potential there, to Solar. It was all mostly speculation, but knowing Augustine, her speculation could be scarily spot on. Really, there'd been some _really_ interesting powers among the unwilling population of Curdun Cay, and damn, if Delsin didn't nearly freaking pass out every time… The words _power buffet_ had come to mind a couple of times.

Of course, powering those powers up would be harder, from now on. Along with DUP go the core relays and blast shards – he'd probably have to do it the old fashioned way. By actually _training_. Lame. Still… new tricks could be a thing. A suitable reward for services rendered, maybe.

"We got all the files out of Curdun Cay, right?" Delsin asks. "Everyone's personal files too?"

"Yes, I downloaded everything," Eugene agrees. "Including files on all the DUP employees, and Augustine's core relay research. It's going to take me a while to go through it all, but… we got it all."

"That's good," Delsin murmurs, thinking.

"There's a lot of training data in there," Eugene muses, taking out his phone. "As much as I don't like it… it might be a way to help the Radiation Conduit – Augustine was nothing if not good at control."

"If you wanna call it that, sure," Fetch mutters, shaking her head. "Feels messed up, taking that stuff, using it."

"Yeah, but it's different, using it for Conduits, not against them. It might help us get started," Delsin says and then shakes his head, sighing. There's no getting away from it, is there? "I think we might have to put together, like… a thing. An organisation for Conduits, for… helping Conduits."

"Like a school?" Eugene asks, making a face.

"Maybe. A facility, anyway, a place where Conduits can come to for help – and maybe where people can come, when they need a Conduit's help," Delsin agrees. "There's a lot of things we can do that un-powered people can't. Like – remember that fire? The fire station was trying to get in touch with us all day, but they didn't have a number to call."

"So, Conduit public service station," Fetch says, making a face. "With our own emergency number. Yeah, I can _totally_ see people getting behind that, uh-huh."

"Maybe not _now_ , but… we should do something," Delsin says. "We already have, and we're off to a pretty good start, right? Why stop there? And now there's all these Conduits," looking up to him for some goddamn reason, "and… we should do something for them. I think it could be pretty… pretty awesome, actually."

Fetch shares a look with Eugene and then sighs. "Alright, Delsin," she says. "If you say so. Where do we start? And, more importantly, where are we going to get the money for this operation of yours? Because it will take a lot of money. Like a _lot_."

"Uh…" Delsin hesitates and makes a face. "I'll… get back to you on that."

She snorts and rolls her eyes. "Yeah, thought so."

"You know," Eugene comments. "There is a lot of stuff DUP is leaving behind, stuff they're not going to miss."

"We're not making use of them," Delsin says sharply. "We're not taking over DUP bases. That'd be a _bad_ look from start to end."

Eugene shrugs. "Yeah, but – there are Conduits here who can manipulate metal. And you got Concrete – so, in theory we could probably put together whole buildings. We could… repurpose stuff. You know how much scrap metal there's just lying around all over Seattle, after you busted up all those guard towers?"

Delsin blinks at that. "Huh," he then says. "Now that's a thought."


	5. Chapter 5

Desmond could probably escape now. The sun isn't blinding him anymore, and he's feeling way better. All he needs is a hard corner to smash the inhibitor cuff against until it popped open, and he'd be off. And sure, he's surrounded by Conduits who might give chase, but with so many of them he could probably get lost in the numbers long enough to slip out the orange jumpsuit and then vanish into the shadows. He could go.

Instead he sits back and turns his face up to the sun and just breathes and loses track of time. It's been seven years, what's a few more hours? _Seven years_. Fuck, he's in his _thirties_ now. Isn't that a thought.

Delsin Rowe is talking somewhere, calling for attention. "... Hang on for a bit, we'll sort something out. The good people of Seattle are a little nervous, I gotta make a few calls – nothing to worry about. Oh, and if there's anyone here who can do metal, step up – I got a _project_ to talk over with you…"

They'd been off-loaded into a big parking lot, and already it's surrounded by a crowd, clamouring for attention. They sound like the wind in trees, the voices of people, like rustling leaves. There are sparks, little sharp bursts of power, camera flashes. Helicopter overhead. It's a pretty violent sort of attention they're on the receiving end of, and it's making the Conduits nervous – probably the only reason regular people haven't overrun them yet is because Rowe put up a temporary fence, a concrete line in the sand, and told the crowd and the reporters to please stay back.

It's kinda obvious the guy didn't plan this very well.

"What did you do?"

Desmond opens his eyes, the sun sinking its rays into them before he looks away, down, peering through the hair at the speaker. It's a kid, skinny and miserable looking, with the sleeves of way too big orange jumpsuit tied around his waist. "Huh?"

"You're still in cuffs," the kid points out.

"Yeah," Desmond agrees, trying to concentrate into the present, wondering. What the hell is a kid doing here? "It makes people feel better."

"Because you did something bad," the kid clarifies. "Other than being a Conduit."

" _... before_ being a Conduit," Desmond says. "You were in Curdun Cay station? You're a _kid_."

"Conduits don't have age limits," the boy says, frowning. "That's what they said. They said it was supposed to keep me safe and that they'd teach me to control my powers… and then they locked me up. Did you kill people? Were they good people? Were there kids?"

Desmond blows out a breath. Jesus, okay. "I thought they were pretty bad, at the time," he says. Mostly they were just security guards, though. "Not kids – adults only."

"Okay," the boy says, considering, and then sits beside him.

"Um," Desmond says, blinking at him. "Hi?"

"I'm Hugo," the kid says. 

"... Desmond. Um," Desmond says, glancing around. Some Conduits are looking at them, but most are ignoring Hugo, and that's somehow worse. "Why are you sitting with me, Hugo?"

"You look scary and everyone's afraid of you," the boy explains. "And you were in the Pit. So you're strong."

"Dunno about that. I'm still in cuffs."

"Yeah," Hugo agrees, watching the crowd behind the concrete fence. "And people are still scared of you. So if I sit with you, they'll be scared of me too, and won't do nothing."

They'll probably be more scared _for_ the kid than of him, but okay, kid logic. "Alright," Desmond agrees. "I don't think Rowe is going to let anyone hurt us."

"Yeah," Hugo agrees and shuffles slightly closer to him. Behind the fence, someone's throwing something – a bottle – which is instantly trapped in a field of purple energy. The purple girl with Rowe flashes over in a steak of neon, picks the bottle floating in the air, and hefts it up.

"No littering!" she shouts, and makes to throw the bottle hard enough to make the whole crowd recoil. It lands, still almost weightless, into a recycling bin. With a snort, the girl flashes over to the other side of the parking lot, to pick up something else someone else tried to throw at the Conduits. Conduit security. Nice.

"I'm tired," Hugo says quietly.

"Me too, kid," Desmond agrees. "If you wanna take a nap, it's okay – I'll watch your back."

"Okay. Don't hurt me," the boy says with a yawn, and leans against his shoulder. "You're _warm._ "

"It's the sun," Desmond says, sighing, and the kid mumbles something, closing his eyes. "I won't hurt you, kid. I'm not going to hurt anybody."

Hugo is using Desmond's thigh for a pillow and Desmond is losing feeling in his leg by the time Roselyn wanders over, rubbing at her lower back as she comes. She's still skeletal-looking – whatever her Conduit power is, she hasn't gotten the chance to charge up.

"You recovered fast," she rasps, frowning at him, peering through his hair to see his eyes.

"Sorry," Desmond offers. "I take in light passively, it's… a thing. Can't really stop it."

"Hm. Never got to properly introduce myself – Roselyn McKinnon," she says. "I'd shake your hand if I could. Thank you for knowing Morse Code."

"You're welcome," Desmond nods, smiling. "And same. You were the first person I talked to, other than the Big Bad, in… years."

"The Big Bad?"

"Augustine."

"Ah," Roselyn nods in understanding and then hums. "You get energy from light. All light?"

Desmond shrugs. "Sun mostly."

"Did they dig that fucking Pit for you?" Roselyn asks suspiciously.

Desmond shrugs again. "Can't say they asked for my input on it. Probably not – they could've just had me in a windowless, doorless cell, and it would've served the same purpose. Figure Augustine would've dug out the Pit sooner or later anyway."

"Hmm," Roselyn hums, squinting at him. "You might be right." She's quiet for a moment and then asks, "Do you want me to get that hair off your face?"

Desmond almost laughs with relief. "Please."

Her fingers shake and her nails feel like rakes, pulling his hair back from his face – for a while she struggles to force the hair to part enough to braid it, before giving up and just pulling it into a knot. "It's just messy enough to hold for a while," she mutters. "There. That better?"

"Yeah, thank you," Desmond sighs and looks at her over his shoulder. "So why'd they throw you in the Pit? If it isn't too much to ask…" She's so old and small. She doesn't look at all like the maximum security type.

Roselyn lets out a laugh, which sounds a little like a rusty cellar door swinging open. "I can stop time," she explains. "Or as good as. Augustine's official assessment was that I can desync myself from the natural linear flow of time."

Desmond arches his brows. "Wow. That's a thing Conduits can do, huh?"

"It's a thing I can do, anyway," she agrees. "Very useful when grading papers and checking if students are cheating on pop quizzes. Not so useful when you're trapped in an inescapable hole in the ground. Slowing or stopping time isn't exactly… ideal in prison."

"Yeah, no. I'm sorry," Desmond offers. "How do you charge up a power like that?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Roselyn sighs. "I can do it a few times in a day, so maybe it charges up passively, but… it's not exactly an elemental Conduit power."

"Hmm," Desmond hums. "Still pretty incredible. No wonder you almost managed to escape so many times."

Roselyn smiles grimly at that and then gives him a closer look. "So, _what_ are you a terrorist _of?_ "

Desmond sighs and looks around the parking lot. A lot of the Conduits there are pretty young, under twenty – or they're old, like Roselyn. Desmond is the only one still in a cuff, so the others are probably more or less innocents. Innocents and old folk and _kids_ , imprisoned for the crime of having an ability.

"I don't even know anymore," he admits heavily. Because this, all of this, the whole Curdun Cay Station bullshit, is the sort of shit Assassin Brotherhood should be fighting _against_. The DUP were imprisoning, training, experimenting on _kids._ What the fuck.

 _Seven years._

"Puts righteous causes into perspective, hmm?" Roselyn comments, also looking at the kids.

"Yeah," Desmond agrees roughly and turns his eyes to Hugo, still sleeping with his head on Desmond's thigh. The kid's in a fetal position, all curled up, instinctively protecting his soft squishy belly. Even asleep he looks miserable. "It really does."

"Okay, listen up!" Delsin Rowe calls, hopping with a gust of smoke and sparks to stand on top of the prison bus. "I got some good news and some not so good news. Good news is that we got a go ahead to build a temporary facility for Conduits in Seattle. Bad news is, it's gonna have to be on the bay – like the fucking fortresses Augustine built. Beggars can't be choosers, though, so I'm going to need some help – if there are Conduits here who can do stone, metal, glass, any kind material we can build with, step up – we have some work to do."

Desmond frowns. "On the bay?" he murmurs.

"In the water," Roselyn explains quietly. "In cities like this, DUP set up a whole slew of towers past the shore line – towers no one but their Force Conduits could access. It's one hell of a security measure. I suppose here it means keeping us Conduits separate from regular people."

And far enough removed that if someone decided they needed to fire a few missiles at some Conduits, they could do that with minimal danger to the city and its non-Conduit inhabitants. Desmond hums. Well, it would keep regular people from causing trouble too. If Rowe could actually build it.

"So. I suppose you have no choice but to stick around," Roselyn muses.

Desmond shrugs. He could go, but… there's a kid sleeping on him. "Yeah, I'm a bit tied up in the moment, yeah," he agrees, smiling at Hugo and then looking up at her. "You?"

"I want to see if anything will come of this," Roselyn says, watching Rowe, now surrounded by volunteers. "It could really be the start of something, and I'd hate to miss it. In the meanwhile, I need to find a phone…"

"I wouldn't mind getting my phone call," Desmond muses. "It's been _seven years,_ and I still haven't gotten my phone call. Starting to get a little peeved about that one."

"You do know that the right to a phone call is mostly a Hollywood invention?" Roselyn comments. "It really varies between states and depends on the severity of the crime and what rights you have."

"And Conduits have _no_ rights," Desmond agrees with a sigh. "Yeah. Still, if you do get hands on a phone…"

"I'll keep it in mind," Roselyn agrees. She hesitates for a moment and then pats his shoulder. "It's... good to meet you face to face, Desmond."

Desmond's lip quivers and he doesn't bother to fight it. "You too, Roselyn. You too. I'm glad you made it."

She squeezes his shoulder while passing him by, and then she's gone. Not knowing what else to do, Desmond tries to settle down more comfortably on the asphalt, balancing the inhibitor cuff on his knee while keeping watch over Hugo. After a moment, he looks up, to where Rowe is trying to put together a plan.

"Yeah," Desmond murmurs. "Guess I'll just hang around here for a bit."

Hugo is still asleep when the plan looks like it's done – there were some guys with construction experience among the Conduits and one who could create hologram-illusion things, and between them, they put together a building plan. It honestly looks like just a block – but if it was secure and had a roof on top…

"We'll adjust it as we'll need to, and as we figure things out," Delsin Rowe says, deeming the plan ready. "Fetch, you think you can take our Metal Conduits out on a bit of a salvage mission? Go collect the scrap left behind by DUP. I'm going to go collect the concrete around the city, we're going to need a lot of it. Eugene, you're in charge of security here in the meanwhile, okay? Keep these guys safe."

"I will gladly do so!" a freaking _angel_ pronounces and then takes off into the sky, frizzing with light and energy as it goes. It situates itself, himself, whatever, over the parking lot like a beacon of blue and white light.

"Neat," Desmond murmurs and wonders if he'd ever get used to the whole Conduit business.

"Great," Rowe says. "That's great. Now…"

He turns, searching the crowd until he finds Desmond – and Hugo, now curled against Desmond's side. With a slight frown, Rowe disappears in a flash of fire and ash and appears in cinders before Desmond. "What's up with the kid?"

"Hugo," Desmond says and shrugs. "He's tired and scared, and since I'm the scariest guy here, I'm the safest. No one's gonna bother him if he's with me."

Rowe's brows arch at that. "Is that a fact?"

"It's kid logic," Desmond says and looks at the kid. "But I guess, yes. If someone bothers this kid, I will probably have to do something about it."

Rowe tilts his head, watching him. 

"He sat with me, I didn't do anything," Desmond murmurs awkwardly. "I wouldn't."

"Mm. Well, I meant to take you with me," Rowe comments. "To collect the concrete and ask a thing or two. But since there's a kid sleeping on you…"

Desmond looks down at Hugo and then shrugs. "I'm not waking the kid up," he says. 

"And you'll have to do something if I do?" Rowe asks flatly.

"Maybe."

Rowe stares at him for a moment searchingly and then snorts and looks behind himself. "Eugene, keep an eye on this guy. If he twitches, give me a call."

Then he's gone, a streak of smoke and ash flashing through the crowd and then away, disappearing behind the protestors. Desmond cranes his head, but sitting on the ground he can't see much, and after a moment he gives up. Rowe's long gone. Conduits got zero chill, huh.

Weird, though. Didn't the guy have Concrete powers just a little while ago?

Desmond thinks about it for a moment, but, ultimately, it's not his business. He doesn't really have a _business._ Except to sit here and not move and bother Hugo. Who's… really looking kinda uncomfortable and cold.

Glancing around without turning his head to make sure no one's paying too much attention to them, Desmond channels a little bit of Solar through his leg, trying to keep the light to a minimum. Hugo mumbles in his sleep and tightens his grip – and as the lines of light disappear under the boy's skin, he looks a little bit better, a little bit healthier. Good.

Desmond can do that much, at least, for the kid.

* * *

Someone brings a tv into the parking lot, and through it they can see Rowe and the purple girl, Fetch, in the local news. 

_"... As a part of the emergency building efforts, our local hero, Delsin Rowe, also known as the Bannerman, along with his companion and fellow hero Fetch, are collecting the scrap and concrete left behind by the retreat of DUP forces after their city-wide occupation of Seattle…"_

The footage is pretty damn impressive. Fetch is seen leading a team of three other Conduits, one woman and two men, in salvaging some trashed barricades and scaffoldings. One of the Conduits is turning the metal into molten hot mass, the others are just bending and forming it into floating clusters, clearing the streets as they go. Rowe in meanwhile is rising like a stone phoenix from the devastation of what looks like half a mountain's worth of concrete – it whirls around him, orbiting the guy in massive clumps as he hovers over the ground, adding more and more mass into the clumps. They must already weigh tons.

Yeah. Desmond can see how this guy could've been the one to kick the Big Bad's ass. And man, he wishes he could've seen it.

"I don't suppose there's any footage of Rowe fighting Augustine?" Desmond asks one of the several angels.

"Such legendary a battle has of course gone down in history," the angel agrees.

"Uh-huh. Any change of us lowly mortals viewing history, then?"

The angel turns its head to his direction, flickering like a glitching video frame. "If you are worthy," he says, "such knowledge might be bestowed upon you."

"Mm. Guess I gotta try and be worthy, then," Desmond muses, and then he feels it. Danger – and killing intent, bleeding into the air. "Incoming," Desmond says, before he can even register what it is he feels.

"What?" the angel demands.

Desmond knows what it is now. "Incoming!" he shouts, making poor Hugo jump and the angel pull out a sword from nowhere.

Too late – the grenade hits nearly the very centre of the crowd of idly milling Conduits, and the explosion follows instantly after. In a split of a second, the entire parking lot is full of fire and smoke and bodies strewn about.

With Hugo crying out in terrified alarm, Desmond struggles up, trying to elbow the kid behind him. Beside them, the angel is already rising into the air to face the threat – a group of armed men on a rooftop with grenade launchers and riffles. They're already in position to shoot, and there are already Conduits on the ground, having been hit by those shots.

And the angels are all in air, facing off against the attackers – and not minding the targets on the ground.

"They're going to kill us!" someone shouts. "Everyone run!"

There are some terrified Conduits who do run, then there's few who take shelter behind the walls Rowe had erected… the rest are rising to the challenge, their bodies flickering with power as they charge up to do something.

Most of them are just out in the open.

Fuck.

"Someone put up a wall!" Desmond calls, even while pushing Hugo closer to the wall Rowe had made. It's thin and low and really more of a suggestion than an actual obstacle, but it's _something_. "If you can make a barrier, do it – wall, pillar of stones, fucking _energy barrier_ , anything, give people something to take cover behind! And get out of the open!"

A girl, maybe sixteen, jumps up into the air, and she tries – rubbing her hands together, she charges up some kind of static burst and launches it out into a dancing barrier of northern lights. Below her another Conduit reaches towards a glass bus stop, and it _shatters,_ the glass shards flying towards him, growing and reshaping into a protective dome. Between the two of them they almost manage it even with bullets raining all around them –

Then another grenade gets through the angels, and both the glass dome and the northern lights both pop like soap bubbles, raining on them all with glass.

Other Conduits try to step up. One raises a cloud of dust which doesn't do much to stop the bullets, another tries to use some kind of telekinetic power to move the prison bus they'd arrived on – but she doesn't have the energy. None of them do – Curdun Cay Station had left them all tired and starved and weak, and none of them have the energy to fight. And maybe they could wait and hope and pray that the angels could stop the attackers before they killed them all, but… there are already Conduits on the ground, a dozen or so.

Desmond trusted others to save him, to save the world, and it cost him seven fucking years.

He needs the cuff off, _now_.

Gritting his teeth and turning away from the carnage, Desmond faces the wall Rowe had built, finds a nice corner in it and then lifts his arms. The impact of hitting the wall with the bulky inhibitor cuff rattles all through him, but it's not enough to break the cuff open, so he lifts his shaking arms again and thries again, and again – and the fucking wall starts breaking before the cuff does.

"What – what are you doing?!" Hugo asks, covering beside the wall, safe distance away.

"Trying to break – the damn thing off – so that I can – help!" Desmond grunts and then winces as he breaks off a chunk of the wall, his arms feeling bruised. The cuff is dented now – but the lock still holds. "Fuck, she must've upgraded these things – used to be able to pop these open with a good whack…"

Hugo watches him with wide eyes, wincing as Desmond bangs the cuff against the wall again, only succeeding in breaking off another bit of concrete and accidentally tearing off a chunk of beard hair from where the damn thing got stuck in the cuff. The boy flinches as another hail of automatic weapons fire rains on the Conduits, breaking through another feeble attempt at a barrier. Then, while Desmond catches breath, Hugo reaches forward...

And the cuff breaks into dust.

"Wha –" Desmond asks, his wrists suddenly free, his fingers full of metal and ceramic dust raining through them and to the ground. "Hugo?"

The boy shrugs awkwardly – and then the full, uninhibited power of the sun hits Desmond, the rays completely engulfing him, drawing golden lines in his skin, almost lifting him up from the ground. If feeling sunlight through the cuff after seven years was something, this… oh man, _this_.

"Yeah," Desmond sighs, stretching towards the sun, feeling its light whirl all around him, sinking into him. Fuck, it's so nice to be _warm_ again. "Missed you too, you big temperamental bitch."


	6. Chapter 6

"Shit, shit, _shit_!"

Grabbing Neon as he runs, Delsin switches over from Smoke and then races down the street, barely avoiding people along the way. He can see the flashes of light up ahead, blue and white, Eugene doing his thing. He can also see a whole lot of smoke, and hear gunfire, and _explosions_ and – shit.

He should've known someone was gonna try something. Things had been too easy lately, way too calm. Of course something was going to go wrong. Except he'd thought if something was gonna go wrong with the liberation of Conduits, it should've already happened – at Curdun Cay Station, on the way from there, something. By the time they got to Seattle, the brand spanking new centre of Good Will for Conduits… it was supposed to be okay.

Well, obviously not. Whether it's normal people, or cops, or DUP still lingering in the city, someone's taken an issue with the Conduits entering the city, and then they'd waited the moment Delsin was on the _other damn side_ of it, before attacking. And now, fuck, now – now he might be too late –

Another explosion up ahead, sharp and forceful, not just a car going up in flames or accidental burst of Conduit power – a _proper_ explosive.

Gritting his teeth, Delsin bounces from a street light to a wall and then up it, to the roof, where he grabs Video from a satellite dish and then bounces right off it across and then, then he's above it, floating on Video wings, trying to see through the smoke. "Eugene, man, I'm here – what's the –?"

Not that there's a point in asking. It's like a warzone underneath him. It's not exactly _new_ , explosives, DUP had tried to use them on him, and automatic rifles are dime a dozen, really… but having them aimed at _someone else_ , at the Conduits, most of whom have no way to defend themselves against attacks – it makes it so much worse. There are blast marks on the parking lot surface, rings of scorch marks where the explosions had hit, there's people on the ground, just lying there – some Conduits are trying to put up barriers, even take shots at the shooters…

Eugene's angels are there too, hovering in the air, trying to get at the attackers on the rooftop and being gunned down by weapons fire. It's DUP, or guys in DUP gear anyway, of course it is – and it looks like they're not standing down, not at the face of Eugene's angels going, "Cease your hostility or face dire consequences!" They're spread out, too, all around the area, on multiple rooftops – and while Eugene's angels are busy with one rooftop, on another someone's preparing a grenade launcher. Even with a Hellfire Swarm, Delsin doesn't think he could take them all, not in time.

He can take out the grenade launcher, though, he thinks, and holds out his hand, aiming right for it.

The news chopper gets in the way, shining a spotlight right at his face, throwing off his shot. "Oh, come on!" Delsin shouts. "Out of the way, jackasses!"

The chopper moves, but it's too late – another grenade impacts the parking lot, and Delsin knows he's going to hear the screams in his fucking nightmares, see this scene – the explosion, the smoke, the bodies thrown to the ground – the… the intense golden fire… walking across the parking lot – what the f –

A rattle of gunfire dances over Delsin's shoulder and he turns, grimacing, and answers it with a barrage of Bit Torrent, firing until as the guy goes down. Quickly looking around, Delsin chooses the rooftop with most gunmen, and then launches the Hellfire swarm at them, watching with satisfaction as everyone on that rooftop goes down – by that point, the golden fire has reached the centre of the parking lot.

Delsin glances down, and through vivid light lashing out, through the flames – no, not _flames_ , they're something else – he can just about see. It's a man at the centre of the light, building up massive amounts of power, reaching glowing hands towards the sky – towards the sun.

Desmond.

The guy reaches up, the sunlight seeming to spiral down to him like water down a sink – and then a tongue of power, or arc lighting, or… or a _solar flare_ , whatever it is, it lashes out from the man. It looks like an attack, except that it's not aimed at any of the attackers.

It hits, instead, one of the Conduits fighting to put up a barrier.

"Son of a –" Delsin grits, as the Conduit screams out. Turning in the air, Delsin aims down – he'll slam into Desmond, he'll take the guy out. It's a lot of power the man's is wielding, but so is Delsin, and with concentrated effort and enough windup –

The screaming Conduit throws her hands up and Delsin can see her eyes, burning brightly with golden light. Suddenly he's being thrown back up in the air, as the whole area is absolutely _covered_ in vivid green and red and purple flames, rising from the ground level to the top of the 15 story building across – and it's vaporising the bullets that hit them. Northern Lights – it's Lena, the Static Electricity girl -

Another arc of solar flare lashes out of Desmond and hits another Conduit – it's Daniel, Delsin thinks, maybe. The guy roars out half in pain and half exhilaration, and there's a grinding of glass as the guy reaches out with his power, gathering shattered glass from the ground, and what he builds isn't so much a dome as it is a _shield_ , a bunker of glass, enclosing the entire parking lot.

Another arc, and another Conduit gets obviously and _brutally_ powered up. A dust storm suddenly blows into the clearing, covering the dome, almost smothering the northern lights – obscuring the whole area in a tornado of sand and dust, protecting the Conduits underneath the whole goddamn mess of it and then –

An arc of power lashes out, and catches Delsin on the foot. It courses through him like the best electric shock ever, hot, and _good_ , pure power _euphoria,_ like suddenly he's drunk, and high, and strong as _fuck_.

Feeling his eyes burn, his wings flaring out suddenly ten times bigger than before, Delsin turns, and sends another Hellfire Storm at another rooftop, and then another – charged up in a way that goes way past what he's ever felt, with what feels like nearly unlimited power at his disposal, Delsin sends a swarm of angels every which way the attacks are coming from, one after another, burst, burst, burst – until the sky is full of light and power and not a single gunshot is being fired.

It's incredible – it's the best damn thing he's ever felt. He's always sort of peripherally aware that he could probably demolish Seattle if he really wanted to – right now, it feels like it would only take a swipe of his hand. Just one swing, and he could level the whole damn city. With this kind of power, no one could ever stop him. With this kind of power, he could do anything. With this kind of power –

With this much _power_ …

Delsin gasps, trying to get a proper look around. The rooftops are littered with glowing blue swords, pinning down the attackers. It's over – it's over. And underneath – there's still a sand storm raging on, and a huge wall of Aurora Borealis right in the middle of the city, and what looks like a wall of floating glass _daggers,_ and…

Blinking until his head is a little clearer, Delsin shakes his head. "Shit," he mutters, spreading out his Video wings, and then diving. Getting it all isn't easy – the dust storm and the Aurora Borealis are hiding a lot of things now, like soap bubbles and ice shards and floating leaves that cut like razor blades. Delsin ends up having to use Video to punch a hole through them all, until he gets to the side of the glass dome. It stands on glass pillars, like an enormous, kind of over-ambitious pavilion – the Conduits are all under it.

So is Desmond, with dozens of flaming tongues of Solar lashing out from his now sagging form, and to all the Conduits around him. No longer as vivid as the couple first lashes, it's still obviously empowering everyone it hits, and they're healing – not just from the damage they'd taken during the attack, but from months and years of starvation, from dehydration, from years spent inside a prison.

"W-what, what was that –" Lena the Static Conduit asks, shakily – there's still a golden arc on her, and a bright burning light in her eyes, but her hands are shaking. "I – I did that, that was – _awesome_ , but how did I –?"

"It's like he powered us up, it's – he's like – a _battery_ – or an enhancer, or - " Daniel says, also shaking, glass shards still floating around him – "H-holy fuck – "

Delsin glances around before looking at Desmond, now on his knees, hair floating around him like a fizzy dark cloud, his arms hanging loose at his side. Everyone is on the receiving end of an arc, from the youngest to the oldest – and it's draining Desmond dry.

Working more on gut instinct than actual knowledge, Delsin lashes out with his chain, turning it into a sword, and then he uses it to cut through all the arcs, cutting everyone off Desmond, himself included. The moment the last arc is cut, the guy sags down, almost toppling over – Delsin catches him with both hands on the guy's shoulders, looking at his face.

Desmond looks up through a mess of frizzy hair, eyes still golden, blinking like it hurts.

"Dude," Delsin says flatly. "What the _fuck_?"

"Solar," Desmond says, like it explains _anything_. "And – Earth things? You know?" he sighs, his eyes rolling back and then his head just drops, his forehead almost cracking against Delsin's nose as the guy passes the hell out.

For a moment no one says anything, as the last sparks of Solar power run dry, and they're left in the wake of – whatever the hell that just was. Delsin supports Desmond, not knowing what else to do with the _dead weight_ the guy's just become, and then belatedly checks his pulse. Going strong. Well. That's something.

"Okay, that was – a thing that just happened," Delsin says slowly, clearing his throat. "Everyone alright? Did we lose anyone – is anyone hurt?"

As the dust storm finally starts to wind down, the Conduit who created it pulling back her power somewhat sheepishly, they do a head count. There'd been injuries, few of the Conduits had been shot and there'd been several who had been caught by the grenades… but they hadn't lost anyone. No one's even hurt anymore.

They'd all gotten a heady boost to their healing abilities – the only thing left from the attack are some torn clothing, scorch marks, and a massive glass pavilion confused-looking Daniel now stares at like he has no idea how he made it. There's a lot of confused staring going on, the _did I just do that_ kind. 

They'd all done something, it looks like. A spooked looking little kid is standing in crater of asphalt suddenly turned into dust, an older man is suddenly three times as built as he'd been before, there's a girl completely covered in armour of _plastic_ , there's lot of mysterious scorch marks and smears on the ground, someone grew a whole _tree_ out of nowhere...

"I think I just recovered from arthritis," Roselyn comments, waving her fingers. "Huh."

"Huh," Delsin agrees and then his eyes are drawn to Karena.

"Um," she says, her eyes wide and whole body glowing slightly green. "I think I need help?"

* * *

The attackers are former DUP members – or still current members, but with the organisation on the way out it's the same thing, basically. Feeling their reign of DUPeness coming to an end, and feeling like their boss woman was taken down unfairly and that Seattle colluding with Conduits was treason and that the whole thing was against everything they stood for and all the other bullshit they believe in… they decided to go out with a bang. Deciding that to hell with Augustine's no-killing-Conduits policy, her last loyal henchmen were going to kill as many as they could as fast as they could until they were all taken down.

Yeah, it was pretty much a final nail in the DUP's coffin, staging an ambush in a crowded area and almost killing a whole lot of regular old people along with the Conduits – and seeing that it was _Conduits_ that stopped _any_ casualties from happening… Well, it didn't help their cause much.

"I think they had some help within the local government, maybe elsewhere too," subdued Eugene reports, after they're done tying everyone up and sending them off with the cops. "Someone helped them set this up and get into position – I'm going to find out who."

"Don't take it personally – me and Fetch didn't notice anything either," Delsin says, patting his back. "And we didn't lose anyone. I'll call it a – not-loss."

"We almost did, though, we almost lost so many Conduits," Eugene murmurs. "I tried to fight them, but I couldn't make enough angels to cover all the rooftops, and then they were all firing grenades, and – "

"It's okay, dude. Shit happens. We survived and we dealt with it," Delsin ruffles his hair through the hoodie, and Eugene hangs his head, sighing. "We can't get hung up on it, not with so much more stuff to do."

"Yeah, no kidding – like the fact that you completely blocked off a major highway with a four story pile of concrete," Fetch says with a snort, walking the edge of a rooftop, peering down. "And I missed all the weird wacky action. Did the terrorist dude really just… power up everyone else? You got a hit of it too, D?"

"Yeah, I did," Delsin agrees – and he's still kinda tingling with it. Though it might be Karena's Radiation too. It'd been a bit of a double whammy. "Desmond's still out of it – whatever the hell that was, it took a lot out of the guy." They'd laid him down on the sunniest spot they could find, but it was turning to evening, and the sun was already getting pretty low. Didn't seem like the guy would be coming to anytime soon.

"You think he always had that power?" Fetch asks, glancing at him over her shoulder.

"I have no idea. He seemed to sorta know what he was doing," Delsin muses and shrugs his shoulders. "But, he was also kinda delirious and then he passed out in the end, so, who knows. Why?"

"I'm just thinking… he's been in Curdun Cay Station since the place was built," Fetch comments, making a face and folding her arms. "Imagine if Augustine had managed to turn him to her side. A Conduit that powers up other Conduits. Imagine the crap she could've done with _him_."

Delsin had kind of guiltily been imagining the crap _he'd_ be able to do with Desmond's power – or with Desmond powering up him, or… however it worked. It makes Fetch's words hit kind of close to home. "I'm trying not to," he says, clearing his throat awkwardly. "She didn't, though – he didn't work with her."

"Yeah," Fetch muses, rolling her jaw in thought and then turning to them. "Kinda makes you wonder what's the guy's deal, huh? The stuff he could've done, could've gotten away with, giving Augustine access to something like that… why didn't he? I wonder if she actually knew."

"I don't think so," Eugene says quietly. "It _would_ explain why she did want him on her side – and why she locked him in the pit when he didn't comply, but… she wouldn't have stopped working on him, if she knew. Desmond could've given her what blast cores and core relays do for Delsin. There's no way she would've given up on that until she got what she wanted."

And isn't that a scary thought.

"Yeah," Fetch muses, humming. "Lucky for us. So," she blows out a breath. "The fuck do we do now?"

"Well," Delsin says and stands up with a stretch. "I need to figure out self-cloning, because I am putting off like seven different things I should be doing just to talk to you guys. I got concrete to collect and fortress to built, radiation to figure out, I got Conduits to corral and, oh yeah, the Mayor wants to talk with me, I wonder why, and I got like dozen news crews after my ass for an interview, and –"

"Yeah, your life is so hard, you're so famous, boohoo," Fetch agrees with false sympathy. "Poor baby."

"Hey, it's hard being in charge, alright?" Delsin says, throwing a bit of rooftop gravel at her. "And oh yeah, let's not forget that there's apparently now _rogue DUP_ assholes looking to _kill us all_. That's a thing I gotta deal with, too."

"I can take some of those off your shoulders," Eugene says, standing up. "I think we need to do the fortress _now_ , though. The longer we wait, the more opportunities people will have to attack the Conduits. The sooner we get them somewhere secure, somewhere we can _control,_ the better. Out in the open like this…"

"Yeah," Delsin agrees. They never should've agreed to the parking lot. Shaking his head, not much they can do about that now, Delsin looks at Fetch. "How much metal did you get?"

"Ask the metal guys, I was just acting as the scrap yard tour guide while missing all the damn action," Fetch says. "It's a lot though. More than enough to rebar your concrete, easy."

"Okay, good," Delsin says. "You two stay here and watch them – I'll go fetch the concrete I dropped and then we'll move this whole lot to Rainier, and get this party started. Let's take no chances this time – no one else is attacking those Conduits."

"We'll take care of it," Fetch agrees. "Should I send the metal guys to Rainier too? Or we could just tell everyone to get a move on, and meet you there.""

Delsin considers it. "Yeah, okay. Take the bus, if it's still good – if not, then, uh…"

"I'll commandeer one," Fetch agrees.

"Nicely – you will ask nicely," Delsin says quickly.

"Yes, I will commandeer a bus nicely, got it," Fetch agrees and charges up, her arms lighting up with power. "Bet we'll beat you to it," she says, and then falls off the rooftop, turning into a streak of light as she races down the wall.

"Bet you won't," Delsin says after her, even though there's no way she'll hear him. Then he sighs and stretches out his arms. "Right, concrete. Anything on your mind before I head out, Eugene?"

The other Conduit puts away his phone and sighs. "We could've done this so much better," he says. "We should've had facilities ready _before_ we busted Curdun Cay Station open. We should've –"

"Could've, should've, would've – _didn't_ ," Delsin concludes. "We messed up, yeah, this could've been handled better, obviously. But we're still _handling_ it. And we gotta keep going. Can't stop halfway."

Eugene hums and stands up. "Yeah," he says. "I just keep thinking about how, like… Red Cross or Peace Corps or _something_ would've handled this. Or any organisation, specialising in emergency relief and stuff. We're barely half-assing this."

"We are all full-assed here, my man, we just got ass-all resources," Delsin snorts. "And if we tried to do this properly, with like… facilities and personnel and shit ready… maybe it wouldn't have gotten done. Who could've authorised it – who would've? We'd still be asking permission just to start."

"… You're right," Eugene sighs. "Better to ask forgiveness than permission, huh?"

"Yeah. And even if we're kinda fucking this up, at least we're trying," Delsin says and looks down over the edge of the rooftop. "Trying to do some good, it's gotta count for something."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's about it for action in this fic. Just in case you're here looking forward to more asskicking and epic fights, I don't wanna mislead you.


	7. Chapter 7

Desmond wakes up with the sun in his eyes, having dreamed of absolutely nothing. There's wind in his face, it smells like salt, like the sea – and for the first time in… god knows how long, he's lying on something soft, and not just concrete. It's not a mattress, it's all lumpy, but it's still soft.

Pillows. He's lying on a mound of pillows. And for once, his hair isn't on his face.

Blinking blearily at the sunlight, Desmond sighs, feeling it sink into his eyes, warming them up – and isn't that a weird feeling, having warm eyes. Stretching his stiff limbs, Desmond looks around to see a pillar of dark concrete rising just beside him – and a half-wall, a fence – baluster? – of more concrete in front of him. He's on a narrow, enclosed strip, a full wall with a door behind him and the fence in front of him with open air above it, sun shining on him, and… Fuck, you know it's been a long-ass time when it takes a moment to recognize a balcony. He's on a _balcony_.

 _Why_ is he on a balcony?

Rolling up from the pillows and then standing up on shaky feet, Desmond reaches for the baluster, to look beyond it. Sea and shoreline, with the city to the left and mostly open water to the right, distant landmasses just faint lines in the distance. It's a few hundred feet to the shoreline, not an insurmountable distance – if he wanted to, he could just jump out and swim to freedom.

"Huh," Desmond murmurs and then looks at the building he's on. It's all dark concrete, except for glowing lines of neon someone had drawn across the wall, with bursts of neon stars all around it, like fireworks. It has just one word written in it.

CONDUIT.

… right, they were meaning to build a building on water, Rowe and the others, and – fuck.

Groaning, Desmond runs a hand over his neck, shuddering at how _drained_ he feels. Going by the fact that they'd built the place and he's not in lockup somewhere, it probably worked, though, so…

Also someone has braided his hair. _And_ his beard. _Huh_.

"You're awake."

Turning to look over his shoulder, Desmond sees the door open, someone joining him on the balcony. "Roselyn? Oh wow, you look –" he hesitates, not sure how to say it without sounding rude. "Great, you look great."

"Twenty years younger?" she asks, amused, closing the door with her hip – she's carrying a metal tray in both hands with plastic cups and bowls on top. "That's all thanks to you – your little power trip charged me right up, and it turns out even an old woman like me can have a Conduit's healing factor. Are you hungry?"

"Not really?" Desmond admits, running his hand over his beard. It feels… weird, braided. Less in his way, though. Hmm.

"You must be – you've slept for almost eighteen hours, and that was after Curdun Cay Station – when was the last time you ate?"

"Uh," Desmond hesitates and then sighs. "Yeah – thanks, appreciate it," he says and accepts the tray. It's some kind of mushy looking bean stuff, with a bit of bread and orange juice. "We got food now, huh. Looks like I missed a thing or two."

"Yeah, they found a supply truck for DUP members and helped themselves to it," Roselyn says, leaning her elbows onto the baluster. "We've got a roof over our heads, they're figuring out electricity and lighting… beds and furniture are still a work in progress, and we got just one source of freshwater, and that's a Water Conduit, but… yes, it's looking up."

Desmond nods, considering the tray. Carefully he tries tasting the OJ carefully and almost spits it out. Man, that's a _taste_ and a half. "Did we lose anyone?" he asks, making a face and rolling the taste in his mouth. It has to have some kind of artificial sugar substitute in it. Eurgh.

"No. I'm not the only one whose healing you boosted up," she says and looks at him. "You did give a lot of people a fright, though. Kid, that's one hell of a Conduit power you got."

Desmond shakes his head and takes another careful drink. He can sort of taste the sun in it, under all the processing and added crap. "I'm full of surprises," he mumbled and sets the glass down. "Had to do something. I was with a kid – Hugo? Is he okay?"

"He's fine. A little spooked. Once this place was built and everyone got to safety, Rowe and the others started arranging phone calls, getting everyone in touch with their families if they had any," Roselyn says. "I think they managed to contact his parents."

Desmond blows out a breath. "That's good," he says and looks at her. "Did you manage to get in touch with your grandkids? Are they okay?"

Roselyn smiles. "I did," she agrees. "Joseph and Ally – they're both fine. Surprised to hear from me, but fine. They're coming here, skipping on school. I should have told them not to, but –" her lower lip quivers a little. "I couldn't. They'll be here in a week maybe."

"That's great," Desmond says, smiling. "I'm happy for you, Roselyn, I really am."

She smiles a little wider, letting out a little laugh – it sounds painfully incredulous. "I didn't think, I wasn't sure if I'd ever be able to – Ally just graduated high school, it's –" she stops and draws a breath. "You had someone you wanted to call too, didn't you?"

Desmond looks out to the sea. "Yeah," he says and straightens his back a little. "If they're still around." And in a way he almost hopes they aren't.

Roselyn looks at him like some of that sentiment shows in his face and pats his back. "Eat your beans," she says, "and I'll take you to see Rowe. He wants to talk with you, anyway."

"Yeah," Desmond says and looks at the said beans. They don't look particularly appetising, though he's not sure if it's the fact that he hasn't eaten anything in years talking or not.

They taste a bit better than the OJ, anyway. More sun in beans than in synthetic flavouring, it turns out.

* * *

Feeling instantly a little weaker once out of direct sunlight, Desmond has to be more or less steered through Rowe's building. It doesn't help that the building is kinda weird, and doesn't seem to follow any proper building plans.

There are walls and pillars here and there, random blocks of concrete just sitting there. It looks almost modern, like one of those Brutalist buildings, but not exactly – it's more like it was made by someone who thinks he knows how Brutalist architecture works but had never actually seen it

The building is also a bit like a mall, for some reason. It's all open in the middle with a big inverted pyramid mezzanine that runs all the way through to the top, where it's capped with a glass dome that looks vaguely familiar. The floors are terraced like enormous steps with stairs running in between, and there are people hanging along the edges. Right smack in the middle there's a big concrete pillar that seems to serve no purpose, it's not attached to anything, not supporting anything – and then Desmond sees a purple streak racing up it from bottom to the top, before turning into a person in mid air and floating with purple glow powering her to one of the upper levels.

Huh. Architecture for people who can run up the walls and fly.

"This way," Roselyn says and leads Desmond to the stairs leading up from their level. While Desmond counts the levels – seven in total – he can't help but notice the people noticing him. There are a lot of people who take a double take when they see him and then stop to stare.

"It's there something on my face?" Desmond asks, glancing at Roselyn.

"Yes," she says. "But you also powered up a lot of Conduits here – all of them, really – and nearly caused a nuclear catastrophe."

Desmond blinks at that and then takes a double take off his own. "I'm sorry, I did _what_?"

"You powered up everyone – including Karena," Roselyn explains. "She's the one with Radiation power – and next no idea how to control it."

"Oh. Um. Shit," Desmond says. Fuck, he hadn't even realised. "Is she okay?"

"Rowe handled it – drained her power before it got out of hand," Roselyn says and gives him a look. "You saved people, Desmond, and everyone knows that. But perhaps next time you should be a little more careful with who you do that to, hm?"

"Yeah, shit, no kidding. I didn't really –" Desmond hesitates and then decided, fuck it, and admits. "I've never really done that before, I wasn't sure how it would go."

"So you _did_ know you could juice other Conduits up?" A new voice asks.

It's Rowe, dropping down from another level with a flicker of blue and white, with _wings_ on his back, landing weightlessly on the baluster separating them from the open area. The wings stretch out and then fracture into pixels as Desmond tries not to gape at the man.

"Fetch said she spotted you up and about," Rowe explains and sits on the baluster.

"Yeah, we were just coming over to you – Roselyn said you wanted to talk?" Desmond says, trying to make sense of it in his head. So Rowe has concrete, some sort of smoky stuff – and wings? And what did Roselyn say – the guy _drained_ Karena? What?

"I did – I do – yeah," Rowe agrees, watching him and then glancing at Roselyn.

"I'll be off, then," she says, holding her hand up. "Desmond, if you want to talk later, I'm on level two with the kids – Hugo is there too."

"Yeah, I'll – see you later. I hope," Desmond agrees, shifting his footing awkwardly while Rowe watches him closely. "So, uh. I didn't hurt anybody, right? Roselyn told me about Karena…"

"No one's hurt, you're good there," Rowe agrees, stretching his long legs out. "Spooked a few, made a couple spontaneously bust out some new moves, and there was the scare with Karena, yeah, but we handled it."

"Yeah, by you – draining her? What does that mean?"

"Draining her _power_ , I didn't drain _her_ – I can take on others' powers. Like Augustine's," Rowe explains with a shrug. "Needed it to save my tribe after what she did to them – anyway. It takes some out of the Conduit I do it to, so… taking Karena's Radiation power made the glowy light show stop."

Yeah, Desmond has no idea what that means. "Okay, _cool_ ," he says, and it comes out just as baffled as he feels.

Rowe snorts. "Yeah. So, let's talk about you. There's not much in your files from Curdun Cay Station, just that you do Solar and that Augustine thought you were pretty strong," he says. "You always been able to do that, the power up thing you did?"

Desmond shrugs. "Ever since I got whammied with Conduitness, yeah," he says, a little evasively. "Never got to test it out though – I was captured pretty much the same time, never been able to actually do much with it."

"One hell of a trial run you ran."

"Had to do something. They were shooting at kids and stuff," Desmond says and gives him a look. "Or what, did I do a bad?"

"No, no, we're glad you did – just," Rowe hesitates and then lifts one foot on the baluster, resting his elbow on the knee. "It's just – a lot. Not what anyone expected."

Desmond shrugs. "I didn't mean for it to go that far," he admits. "I just wanted to give a hand to the guys trying to put up defences. They were all so weak."

Rowe narrows his eyes. "Weak, huh?"

"I mean – after Curdun Cay and everything. They were all so exhausted. I knew I could help them out," Desmond says. "So… I did."

"Right," Rowe answers, cracking his knuckles idly and then looking over his shoulder at the mezzanine. "If you'd given this to Augustine, we'd all have been fucked."

Desmond hums noncommittally and then takes another look at the building. "Oh, damn – did my thing help you do this?"

"Yep," Rowe agrees. "Wild, huh? It wasn't just me – this is the work of a bunch of juiced up Conduits working together. Kinda pity the metal guys missed it – bet we could've made it even bigger if they'd gotten a hit. Not that I'm complaining. This is already more than we need."

"Damn," Desmond says, stepping up to the baluster and taking another look at the building. It's kinda simple, ultimately, the design is kinda childish in places – but the scale makes it pretty damn impressive. "Glad I could help, I guess."

Rowe nods and looks at him. "So. Here's the awkward thing. What happened spooked a lot of people, not just Conduits – a lot of non-Conduit people are on the edge too. The whole shoreline is covered by a protest – I'm not sure even _they_ know what they're actually protesting, but they're out there anyway. So…"

Desmond looks at him, expectant, trying not to draw conclusions about what the guy isn't saying.

Rowe hesitates. "Look, man – you're strong," he says. "And I'd rather not get in a fight with you. Could you just agree to keep your head down, here, and not do, like… anything for a bit?"

"... I'm strong?" Desmond asks slowly.

"Well, obviously," Rowe points out. "We all saw what you can do – now, I could draw your power and we'd maybe be on equal footing, but I'm still kinda shaky from Radiation and I haven't a clue how to manage Karena's power, never mind yours and whatever else you can do, so…"

Desmond shakes his head slowly. He could lie, keep the guy thinking that, could work as a deterrent, but… nah. "Sorry to burst your bubble, Rowe, but that was kind of it, all of it."

The guy hesitates. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that's it – that's all I can do. I'm a human solar plant," Desmond snorts. "And that's it."

Rowe leans back a little, making a face. "But – seriously? You got that much power – and you can't do anything else with it?"

"I don't really got anything – I just collect light, and that's it," Desmond shrugs. "I want to fight you even less than you want to fight me, trust me – the odds aren't in my favour. The only thing I can do in a fight with this stuff is make my opponent stronger."

For a moment Rowe says nothing, eyeing him searchingly. "Not sure I believe you," he then says dubiously. "Power like that, and you just _can't_ use it? I don't know, man, sounds kinda sus."

"Sounds kinda _what_?" Desmond asks with a laugh.

"Suspicious," Rowe says and hops down from the railing. "But I take it this means you're cool with staying low for a bit? Won't try to stage an epic escape?"

Desmond's smile fades a little. "Am I a prisoner, then?" he asks.

"No, no – I mean. You're still a terrorist who killed people, so there's that, but," Rowe blows out a breath. "Let's say you're out for good behaviour for now. And I'd really like it if you kept it up with the good behaviour."

"Right," Desmond says, a little subdued now. "Yeah. Sure. Can I get a phone call though? Been waiting seven years to make a call."

Rowe hesitates. "Who are you gonna call?"

Desmond snorts. "Ghostbusters."

For a moment Rowe just stares at him, and then he groans. "Oh my god, you're a – geez, okay, fine," he says and digs out his cell phone. "Here, have at it. Fair warning, Eugene monitors all communications."

Desmond arches a brow and then looks down to the phone. Then he frowns. He'd been half expecting the thing to be wildly different from the one he'd got back in 2012, but it isn't really – the only thing that's changed noticeably is how much bigger Rowe's phone is compared to the one Desmond had back then.

It's a bit of a letdown. He'd gone through the closest thing to time travel into the future as you can get without superpowers or coma, and everything's more or less the same.

"What?" Rowe asks.

"Just trying to remember a phone number," Desmond says, and punches it in.

He doesn't expect anyone to answer, really. It was an automated service run by Erudito seven years ago, and there was no answering message or anything – just a beep and a whole lot of silence for Assassins and other operatives to record emergency messages on.

"The number you are trying to reach is no longer in service," an automated female voice tells him politely. "If you think you are getting this message in error, please contact the holder of the phone number you are trying to reach by other means, via email or visiting them in person. We apologize for any confusion and hope you have a lovely day."

Rowe is giving him a weird look as Desmond listens to the whole message, so he can probably hear every word. Desmond keeps listening until the automated recording ends and there's the click.

He doesn't get a dial tone, though, or the tone for lost connection. It's just silence. Hm.

Well it's worth a shot. 

"This is Desmond Miles, trying to get hold of William Miles," Desmond says into the silence. "I'm in Seattle. If you –" he stops there, biting his lip, not sure what to say, not sure what he can say. _Dad, if you're still alive, can you come get me_? _Also, surprise, I'm alive too, and kind of pissed, so actually maybe don't?_ Hah. "Not gonna lie, Dad, I kinda hope you're not still around," Desmond says quietly to the phone. "Any of you. Because if you are, then you've fucked me over so bad, and… and I'm not sure I can ever forgive that. And if you didn't _know,_ then… I don't know. I'm in Seattle – come find me if you want."

He hangs up and hands the phone over to Rowe. "Thanks."

"Uh-huh," Rowe says warily, accepting the phone back. "All's not well in the terrorism business, huh."

"I'm not a terrorist," Desmond sighs and shakes his head. Whatever. "You need anything else from me, Rowe? I kinda wanna go back to sleep. I'm still pretty wiped out."

"Yeah, I bet," Rowe says, considering him. "You know, if you decided to throw your lot with us, join the side of angels and all… I won't lie and say it'd be a done deal or anything, but – we're big on redemption. Maybe you'd fit." 

Desmond gives him a surprised look. "Even if I've killed people?" he asks, surprised.

"Fetch's hands aren't exactly clean, and I can't say I got through all of this smelling like roses either. There was a lot of damage, and some of that is on me," Rowe shrugs. "We're making up for it, though, as much as we can, we're trying to be better. How about you?"

Make up for the murders of Templars? Desmond hums and looks away, thinking of the security guards in the lower levels of Abstergo Tower, who were probably just trying to get a paycheck with no idea who they were really working for.

"It'd be nice to have a clean red line in the sand," Desmond muses. "But I don't know if it's that easy."

"Why not?" Rowe asks and then scowls. "It's not hard – just don't fucking kill people. There, a clean red line for you."

"And if they're people who deserve it?" Desmond asks, tilting his head curiously.

"How's that up for you to decide?" Rowe demands.

 _Man._ That's a lovely thought, isn't it, just deciding _no, I don't have the right_. If only it was that simple. "It's not, but sometimes you don't get to just back out of the choice, sometimes it's a life for life – or a lot of lives for a few," Desmond says. "Sometimes you have to decide between bad and worse, and no matter which you pick, someone has to die."

"Is that what happened with you?

Desmond shrugs. "At the time I thought I was doing the right thing, making the right choice. I hope I did," he says. "You'll probably have decisions like that ahead of you too, you know? That's half of the leadership in situations like these – even deciding who to help can fuck somebody else over."

Rowe blows out a breath at that, looking away, frustrated. "I fucking hate that."

Yeah. "I hope you're ready when the time comes, Rowe," Desmond says sincerely. Not many are. He sure as hell hadn't been. 

"Delsin."

"What?"

"My name is _Delsin_ – stop calling me Rowe," the guy says and gives him a look. "What kind of murderer are you, man?"

Desmond snorts. "Tired one," he says. "Can I go? There's a patch of sunlight and a mound of pillows I wanna get intimate with."

The guy snorts at that and then shakes his head. "Yeah, alright – I got stuff to do anyway. Just stay in the building, okay? Or at least on it."

"Will do," Desmond promises. "See you, Delsin."

"Yeah. See you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now begins the Nappening.


	8. Chapter 8

Why the guy's words get under his skin, Delsin doesn't know, Desmond's just one detractor among many… but he keeps hearing them in his head anyway. As he finishes yet another call with the Mayor, as he gives yet another soundbite statement to ravenous media about how _the Conduits mean you no harm, promise,_ as he tries to figure out the damn plumbing in their new building…

_I hope you're ready when the time comes, Rowe._

Fuck yeah, he's going to be ready. He's been ready all this time – fucking bring on the tough choices, he's fucking _got them._ He made hard choices with Fetch and Eugene, hell, Augustine too – the choice not to kill her probably _will_ bite him in the ass one day, because she's a force to be reckoned with and all that. And now, with all these Conduits, it's hard choices all the way down – it's already gotten him, and them, and a lot of other people, knee deep in shit.

Delsin has already lost a lot of the goodwill he'd spent gathering during his fight against DUP. Seattle loved him when he liberated them from the tyranny of concrete – and now it looks like he brought in another, maybe worse form of tyranny, in the form of his own concrete, his own people. 56 Conduits, plus him, Fetch and Eugene, _loose in Seattle_ , as the papers put it.

What else was he supposed to do? Take them to Salmon Bay like one smarmy reporter suggested? The tribe couldn't support that many people popping in, or settling down – there wasn't space, or _food_ , for that many people. Not that… that they had food for that many people in Seattle either, not for the long run. Or space. They had to make their own. Which they probably could've done in Salmon Bay too…

Delsin's kinda painfully aware of his own hypocrisy, in not wanting to dump this mess in the lap of the Akomish. Sure, they'd gone through some fucking hard time, they were barely recovering from what Augustine had done to them – they'd almost _died_ … but then so had a lot of people in Seattle. What made them more deserving, or less so, than the Akomish? Because there's more people in Seattle, more resources, more _crap,_ they could share the burden better? Going by the fact that there's now _ten thousand people_ in the Rainier District, protesting the creation of the _Conduit Fortress_ as they call it, they don't agree.

_Even deciding who to help can fuck somebody else over. I hope you're ready when the time comes._

Yeah, fuck you too, buddy. The time came and went, and Delsin's kinda noticing it in hindsight. It's annoying.

"So, uh," Fetch says, drawing his attention from the wall. "You – taking a break, is this you taking a break?"

"Yeah, I think I deserve a break," Delsin agrees. His fingers are sprayed black and blue and grey, and the wall is dripping in places – which is almost an accomplishment, because Conduit-manipulated concrete is a damn paint-eater. He's being a bit heavy handed on the stream in places, but he isn't really in the mood to care. Sometimes a bit of a mess is warranted.

Eh, he'll patch it up later.

"Hm. Well, I guess it's good to know you're not going, like, respectable or anything on us," Fetch comments, sitting down on a block of concrete to take in the wall in full. "Is that Augustine? Shiit – Eugene said she looked pretty crazy towards the end, but man. That's like some Kaiju movie stuff."

"Oh yeah, it was pretty wild," Delsin agrees, shaking the can. It's been in his mind for a while, the scene – her on one side with her concrete glory, him facing against her with Video powers, shining and bright. He's got like four pages just plotting this one piece – he wasn't sure if he'd ever make it, because, damn, narcissistic much…? So he's adding the other Conduits to it, Fetch and Eugene, and the guys who put up barriers in the parking lot – an army of bright little guys going against the big bad monster.

Fetch watches in silence as Delsin checks the wall where it's dry, and adds some stencils here and there so that he can do shading without ruining previously done parts. The piece is an end-to-end one, taking up the whole wall, so there's a lot of spots along it he can work on while waiting for other places to dry.

He's detailing Augustine's creepy Venom eyes when Eugene wanders in, heralded by a brief flash of an angel, scouting ahead of him. He's still mostly running around invisible around the other Conduits – something Delsin should probably talk to him about, the whole social anxiety thing, it's only going to get worse if the guy keeps it up… but there's been so much other stuff to do, and, damn.

Fuck leadership.

"Nice," Eugene comments as he becomes visible, and Fetch jumps up with a surprised yelp.

"Eugene – man, don't do that! Or if you do it, don't do it right _next to_ _me_!"

"Sorry – I'm used to Delsin seeing me," Eugene says apologetically and takes in the mural. "That's like – you know, historical art, paintings of battles? That's pretty cool – are you going to do more like it, stuff about what happened?"

"I dunno. Maybe? A lot of stuff happened," Delsin muses, switching from blue to purple and shaking the can idly. "This one's gonna take me a while, and I'm already running outta paint… and it's not like I have money to buy more." Or like he could just rack up more, like he used to… be a bit bad for his hero reputation if he got caught shoplifting.

"Actually, that's what I came to see you about," Eugene says. "I uh, have an idea. Several ideas, actually, but one that's immediately useful, I guess. I've been going through the data we got from Curdun Cay Station, and – you know that abandoned truck we found, with the supplies?"

"Yeah, I was there," Delsin says, glancing at him over his shoulder. "You found more like it?"

"Yeah – and other stuff," Eugene agrees, taking out his phone and pulling up a Video hologram from it, to fill half of the corridor. "Well, I got wondering where it came from, you know, and where it was going. You know how DUP had bases all over the city – of course you do. Anyway, turns out they didn't keep all their eggs just in those baskets – the bases were separate from their actual supplies for security reasons, especially towards the end since you kept busting their places open. They needed stores to fall back on to, as they lost ground, so… they put up a number of secret supply stores."

"Which we can now raid, _awesome_ – where are they?" Fetch asks, getting up.

"I got locations for five of them, which according to the data should have enough stuff for about two thousand DUP members," Eugene says, looking between her and Delsin. "And there might be more – there's also a mention of a mention of an _evidence lockup_ , which might have some stuff. Like confiscated valuables."

"… which we should probably return to their owners, but I get you," Delsin hums, adding a bit of purple to the mural, to eventually serve as the background glow of Fetch's Light Speed streaks. "Okay, that sounds like a mission," he says and drops the can into his bag. "Not sure how the population will like us grabbing the stuff, but… we got mouths to feed."

"Fewer than we thought, though, going by the amount of food people already tossed out," Fetch muses and Delsin glances at her, confused. She shrugs. "There's a few energy Conduits here – like the Radiation chick. They don't need to eat."

"… What do you mean, they don't need to eat?" Delsin asks, confused. "Why not?"

"I mean, they don't need to eat – they get sustenance from, you know, whatever. I don't need to eat either, D, you know that right?" Fetch asks, tilting her head. "I just suck up some Neon, and I'm good to go."

Eugene nods in agreement. "I don't really need to eat either, if I got enough Video," he says and looks at Delsin. "I – thought you were the same. Even smoke is sort of energy – you got a bit of fire going in there, and that's energy, so…"

"Um," Delsin says, staring at them. "Wait – you two _don't need to eat food_? Like, ever?"

"I do it for fun sometimes, because taste is still a thing, but eh," Fetch shrugs her shoulders. "Why waste money on something I don't really need? Not like I got much to go around on either, most of the time."

"According to the Curdun Cay Station Files, about ten other Conduits here don't need to eat either – the rest have some level of reduced nutrient requirements if sufficiently _energised_ by their various power sources," Eugene agrees. "It's a Conduit thing – ultimately most what we need from food is just the energy. Why go through the process of digestion when you can just… take it directly?"

Delsin shakes his head. Fuck, and here he thought he'd got this Conduit business down by now. Also, in hindsight… "Well," he mutters. He can't remember the last time he'd felt hungry. Like, at all. He still ate when he could, usually once a day at least, grabbing a burger at least while out and about, but… huh. "I'll be damned."

Desmond probably wouldn't need to eat then, huh? The guy takes in _Sunlight_. Can't get a more direct power source than that, huh.

And here he is, thinking about the guy again.

"There's still a lot of Conduits that do need to eat," Eugene says. "And I think actual physical sustenance is needed for healing, we need materials to regenerate our bodies as well as the energy, so… probably shouldn't go without all the time."

"Being a Conduit is something else, damn," Delsin says and shakes his head. "Okay, so. What kind of defences can we expect from the secret supply stores?"

"Not much, nothing we couldn't handle," Eugene says. "Few seem still occupied, but at least two have been flat out abandoned."

"Right – we'll go for those first, then," Delsin says and zips up his bag of spray cans. "How much stuff are we talking about, though – will I need to make a few trips?"

"Um. Actually," Eugene says and glances at Fetch. "I was thinking that – maybe I should do it? With my angels I can carry a lot more stuff than you can – and in my ultimate form I could probably carry whole crates by myself. And I think – I think everyone would feel better if you stayed here. If you don't mind?"

Delsin pauses in the middle of throwing the bag over his shoulder. "Uh. I – guess not?" he says slowly, not sure how to take that, _if you stayed here_ bit. "I mean, sure, hell, if you wanna go do solo stuff, that's all right in my books. Why are you even asking me if you don't want me to come with you?"

Eugene shrugs. "Well, you're the boss," he says. "I figured I gotta."

Making a face at that, Delsin drops the bag of cans back on the floor, looking away. Sure, he is, but – he hadn't realised it kinda reached to his friends too, that he was the boss of _them_ too. He can't really say he isn't, though, can he? Especially not with Eugene looking at him like he's expecting Delsin to know what he's doing.

 _I hope you're ready_.

"Yeah, okay," Delsin says with a sigh. "Go on, man, have fun – just be careful."

"You want me to come with?" Fetch asks and stretches out her arms. "I could use it – I'm running out of Neon anyway, and was thinking about popping out to the city for a top up."

"We should put up some neon signs here, once we have electricity," Eugene muses. "I was thinking of doing the same with Video – we have some tvs here, but it's touch and go for me too. I was hoping we could find some portable generators at the supply stores we could use to start with…"

Delsin looks after them as they walk away, feeling strangely let down. There's no way he will not be going out and doing stuff even with this leadership crap – he'd still go out, he'd fetched that truck, hadn't he? But this kinda brings it home that, yeah, it would be happening less from here on out, wouldn't it? Because he's the boss. Bosses don't go out on errands.

"Shit," Delsin mutters, looking at the half finished wall. No longer feeling like working on it, Delsin shoves the bag of spray paint into the wall, enclosing it into a concrete chamber, and then heads out to check up on everyone. Because he's the boss, and with Eugene gone, he's on security. Gotta go do his job.

* * *

Delsin spends some time wandering around the building, checking in on people, seeing how they're settling down – and, increasingly, listening to complaints. The building's cold, they don't have running water, no heating, beds and tables and chairs are still a thing that they're missing... Bathrooms are kinda up in the wind too. It's all a work in process. Everyone's understanding when he says they're working on it, but… yeah.

It hits different, when he's the one responsible for it.

So, water tower on top, water boilers, stuff like that, some sort of sewer thing for waste, ugh… a lot of stuff gets added to the to do list, which is already several pages long. Delsin ticks stuff off in order of importance, checking up on Karena's new, lead-lined apartment, before heading up on the rooftop to see if water towers could be a thing they could do, considering that the middle of the roof is taken by the glass dome. Maybe around the edges…?

From there, he spots Desmond on one of the balconies. The guy is just lounging there, on top of a pile of pillows they'd found in a trash bin, with seemingly no worry in the world as he soaks up the last rays of the late evening sun. It looks warm and cosy, and Delsin thinks it should probably piss him off, how comfortable the guy looks, napping in the sun.

Mostly he's just kinda jealous and slightly baffled. Desmond Miles was a terrorist, spent seven years in solitary confinement from hell, and here he is, lounging in the sun like nothing was wrong. And he has the power to give other Conduits temporary godly powers, but supposedly not himself. Also, the temperature is like in the thirties, and the guy is acting like it's the height of summer.

He's also craning his head up, to look at Delsin. It's about four floors in between them, barely close enough that Delsin can see the eyebrows the guy is giving him, silently asking, _what?_

_What indeed._

Shaking his head, Delsin vaults over the roof's edge, and then smoke jets over to the balcony Desmond is on. The guy watches him without bothering to move, just stretching out in the sun like a lazy, hairy cat.

"Hey, Delsin," the guy says, as Delsin lands on the balustrade. "What's up?"

"Have you been just lounging here since we talked?" Delsin asks.

"Pretty much," Desmond agrees, yawning. "I don't know what I did, but I don't take in the sun as fast as I did, coming out of the Pit. I think I strained my Conduit muscles, or something."

Delsin frowns. "You – did you hurt yourself, or something, with what you did?"

"I think I just overextended myself – and maybe I was like, gorging myself on the sun before, then I threw up on everyone, and now I got a stomach ache. Energy wise."

"Uh-huh," Delsin says dubiously, watching him. "You had this yellow stuff on your face before, these streaks like metal. Not there right now. That got something to do with it?"

Desmond hums in agreement, yawning again and scratching at his beard before falling back on the pillows, all loose-limbed. "Probably," he says and peers at him. "What can I do for you, then? Decided what to do with me yet?"

… honestly, no, Delsin hadn't even been thinking about that, the whole terrorist thing. Mostly he'd just been playing back what the guy said. "Were you like a leader of your – not-terrorist group, or whatever it was?"

Desmond hums, closing his eyes. "Not really – just a… field operative, sorta," he says. "I know leaders though, pretty well – or knew."

"They're gone, then?"

"Mmh."

Delsin frowns, sitting down astride on the balustrade, hanging his feet over each side. Confiding in a not-terrorist is probably not ideal, all things considered, but – Desmond is kind of closest to any kind of… fuck, he doesn't even know what to call it. Not authority, definitely. Expertise? The guy seems like he knows stuff. But admitting to him that Delsin isn't sure he knows what he's doing, that seems like a bad call, too.

"What's your group about?" Delsin asks after a moment. "Why did you kill those people?"

Desmond opens one eye, and as the sun hits it, there's a spark, like something whirling around his iris and falling into his pupil. A ray of sunlight, draining down a sink. "You're not going to believe me," he says. "But free will of mankind, that's what my group's about. And I killed those people because they'd kidnapped my dad, and they were standing in the way of me saving the world."

Delsin snorts. "Bullshit."

"Told you," Desmond agrees and closes his eyes again, turning his bearded face to the sunlight. "There was a thing, it's almost as ridiculous as this Conduit business. A prophecy about the end of the world by a Super Solar Flare – that's like… solar flare times a thousand. It would've fried the world and killed, if not everyone, then most of everyone. It hit Earth on 21st of December, 2012."

Hesitating, Delsin leans back a little, frowning. He remembers that. He'd just gotten his driver's licence and – "Wait, that was the – the Global Aurora Borealis thing. Man, I _remember_ that – me and Reggie –" he stops, swallows, and continues before the break in his voice can sound too obvious. "I remember climbing up a roof to see it – Northern Lights in the middle of the day. It lasted for like twenty minutes."

"Sounds nice," Desmond muses, smiling a little. "Wish I'd seen it."

Delsin casts him a look while taking out his phone and quickly googling some stuff. He remembers reading about it, back then, it had been a pretty big event and everyone had been talking about it. There'd been studies made about it. "So, what happened?"

"Well, there was this ancient tech, a big old temple built by people long gone to combat the Solar Flare – to take its power and channel it elsewhere," Desmond says, not opening his eyes. "It needed these power sources, these glowing blue cubes, which I had to collect all over the world. My dad went to get one of them while I was doing… other things, and he was captured by our enemies, and I had to rescue him and get the cube. That's when I killed those people, to get to him and the cube."

Glowing blue cubes, huh. Well, doesn't _that_ sound familiar. There's a lot of articles that say the solar flare _should've_ done more damage. It had fried a lot of satellites – the fact that it hadn't burned more power grids than it had was apparently a miracle. There's even an article suggesting that maybe it had something to do with the resurface of Conduits. Something about agitated particles, activating dormant genes…

"… right, okay. Then what?" Delsin asks, while scrolling through the Solar Flare of 2012 Wikipedia article.

"Then I put the cube in, I unlocked the temple, I activated the tech – and the solar flare hit us," Desmond shrugs. "And next I knew, I was captured, I was experimented on, I was tortured for a bit, all the good stuff… and eventually I was thrown into a prison cell."

Delsin glances at him and then lowers the phone. "Can you actually prove any of that?" he asks.

Desmond chuckles. "Of course not," he admits and stretches out his arms, tucking them under his neck. "I don't expect you to believe me, Delsin. Half the time, I don't either."

Delsin flicks his thumb over his phone screen and then turns it off, pushing it into his pocket. He doesn't believe it, not yet, but… there's a lot about it that rings a bell. Could be worth checking out, although… he's not sure if it would actually change things.

"Do you eat?" Delsin asks.

Desmond opens his eyes, blinking the sun's rays out of them and lifting his head a little to look at him more closely. "Are you asking me out for dinner, Delsin?" he asks, brows arched.

"What – no! I just – I haven't been a Conduit for long, and I just learned that apparently a lot of Conduits don't need to eat as much, or at all?" Delsin says, running a hand over his face to hide his expression. "I just wanna know if you need to eat."

Desmond snorts and drops his head back on the pillows. "Nah, not really," he says. "I'm a cheap prisoner to keep. Don't need to feed me or clean up after me – just once a month give me a lil bit of sun, and I'm good to go."

"… fuck, is that what they did in Curdun Cay Station?"

"Mm-hmm," Desmond agrees, and sighs. "Pretty much."

Delsin shudders. "You know, Augustine thought she was _saving_ Conduits in Curdun Cay Station – that because she was keeping them locked up, they were safe, not being killed by the military."

"Everyone thinks they're the hero of their own story," Desmond agrees and peers at him. "You think the military is going to come after you?"

"They haven't yet, but I dunno," Delsin says, shaking his head and looking past the balcony, to the city. "Things are a bit tense right now."

"I bet," Desmond agrees, watching him as Delsin gets lost in thought, grimly thinking of all the things that could go wrong from here on out. There are so many things – DUP could rally again for another attack, Seattle government might decide they don't want them anymore, the people might overrun the building or bomb it or whatever, the military might butt in, the actual United States _government_ …

"Fruits."

Delsin blinks and looks back at the guy. "What?"

"Fresh fruits – I would love to eat some fresh fruits," Desmond says wistfully. "Fresh vegetables, berries, whatever – anything that's fresh off the field. Stuff that takes in the sun. You know, in case you do want to have dinner."

Delsin gives him an incredulous look. "You think I want to have _dinner_ with you, man?"

"I don't know what you want with me," Desmond says with a shrug and closes his eyes again, humming. "But you're here, and I'm really craving for an orange. Figure it wouldn't hurt to tell you."

For a moment Delsin just stares at him. Really, the guy is something else, isn't he? "Go get an orange then, geez."

"But you told me not to leave the building."

"I – yeah, I did, and I still don't want you to," Delsin says and makes a face at the guy before hopping down from the balustrade. "Whatever, man. I'm outta here."

"Is that a no on the orange then, or – "

" _Yes,_ that's no on the orange," Delsin says and waves a hand at the guy. "You're weird."

Desmond smiles. "You know, that's the nicest thing anyone's called me in seven years?"

Delsin teeters on edge of scoffing at the man and feeling sorry for him, and then decides not to do either. "Sure, man. See ya."

"Alright, Delsin. Take care," Desmond chuckles after him and reclines back on his cushy pile of pillows with apparent intent to take another nap, and Delsin firmly tells himself he isn't _at all_ tempted to join him. Not even a little bit. It's _cold_ out.

How the hell does the guy make a November evening seem warm, seriously.


	9. Chapter 9

By the time evening falls and the sun goes down, Desmond feels more or less like… well, not _normal,_ he has no idea what even is normal anymore. But there's an equilibrium, sort of – plus, with the sun down, being indoors is no different from being outdoors, and lounging about on the pillows isn't that much fun anymore.

So, abandoning his lounging place, Desmond stretches, spends a moment peering at the shore, watching the city's lights reflect on the waters, before turning and heading inside.

It feels a bit like playing catch up, as he heads inside to properly take a look at the building he finds himself in – the thing Rowe and others made. It still looks pretty simple, all straight lines and simple geometric shapes – the most complicated part of it is the inverted pyramid mezzanine, easily. The darkness does the place no favours, it being all dark grey concrete. It actually looks kinda… threatening.

Honestly, the place looks like a supervillain lair.

The people now living there have done little to make it any more liveable and little less… bunker-esque, but Desmond supposes they don't actually have the means to do it. It's been only… what, a day, two? Couple of days since they all got out of prison? He'd kind of lost track of things, but he's pretty sure there'd been a night somewhere in there.

"Hey," someone greets him as he steps up to the balustrade of the mezzanine, looking around. It's a girl he remembers vaguely but has never actually talked to – the Static Electricity girl. She waves at him, smiling. "Hero of the hour, finally awake. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, I guess? Hey," Desmond says, a bit surprised. "I didn't think anyone was waiting on me – sorry. How are you?"

"I'm good, I'm great – alive thanks to you, so I think you deserved to take time off," the girl says and motions him to a roughly made lounge area of sorts, set near the balustrade. "Come join us? Everyone wants to talk to you."

It's not much of a lounge area, really – just a bunch of concrete blocks, surrounding a concrete fire pit. And the fire in the pit isn't actually _fire,_ it's purplish with hints of red and green – Northern Lights, condensed. There's a handful of people sitting around the fire pit, and none of them look particularly warmed by the dancing cold flames.

"So, I'm Lena, I do Static," the static electricity girl says, and motions to the others, one at a time. "This is Soraya – she does Mirrors and stuff, reflections – Hyeon, he's, like… Mental type, telekinesis and telepathy guy. That over there is Jimeno, he can do Plants, it's pretty cool – and last we got Joan, she's uh…" Lena hesitates. "We're not hundred percent sure, actually?"

"It's some sort of mental thing, but not telepathy, or empathy," Joan explains, giving Desmond a little wave. "I think it might be dream projection, or something, but… there's some other mental stuff too. So, it's bit up in the air what it actually centres around," she shrugs and then looks at Desmond. "And you're Solar, right?"

"Um, yeah," Desmond says, looking from one to the other, not sure how to take this. "My name's Desmond, it's… interesting to meet you all."

"Come on, sit down, man," Jimeno says, patting the slab of concrete he's sitting on. "Pull up a block of rock."

"Sure, thanks," Desmond says, not having really anything better to do, and sits down awkwardly. They're all staring at him. "Um, what were you guys talking about? Hope I didn't interrupt."

"We were just trying to figure out some stuff," Lena says, sitting down beside him and stretching out her legs. "Like, where we go from here. We, the Conduit kind, that is. Like, are we going to stay _here_ , in this building, or… what?"

"Didn't Delsin build this place for that reason?" Desmond asks, glancing around.

Soraya leans back a little, blowing out a breath. "Have you seen the crowd out there?" she asks, her voice accented in a way Desmond can't quite pinpoint. "It's pretty obvious the normals don't want us here. And Delsin and the others, they might _say_ we're safe here, and that they're going to make things better for us – but they said that before, and then we got rocket launchers aimed at us."

"Grenade launchers," Jimeno corrects.

"Same difference. How long until someone does the same to this place? Or something worse? You heard the crap they said about us on the news – I bet somewhere there's a committee trying to decide whether to send the whole damn military after us or not. It's just a matter of time."

Lena makes a face. "Okay, _Debbie Downer_ – what's your alternative? We all go on a run? Because that worked so well for all of us, didn't it?"

Desmond sits back, running a hand over his braided beard, listening to them talk, feeling very much like an outsider. It sounds like the argument has been going on for a while. It takes him a while to catch up, but the basic idea is pretty obvious – they don't feel particularly safe in the building, and don't think it can be a permanent solution. The place is too big, too open, too uncomfortable and too removed from the city. Basically, they feel like Delsin had taken just them from one holding facility to another. This one didn't have bars, maybe, but it was still basically a prison.

"Did Delsin say you couldn't leave?" Desmond asks quietly. Them too?

"It's kinda implied by the fact that there's no way to the land, other than to _fly,_ " Soraya snorts. "Which not all of us can do. And then there's the protest going out there – the moment any one of us steps out on land, we're gonna get swarmed."

"Huh," Desmond answers thoughtfully. "Well, that's not ideal."

"Yeah, no shit."

"What do you think of the situation, Desmond?" Lena asks, looking up at him. "Do you think we should leave?"

What he thinks is that this discussion is several hours ahead of him and he has no idea. "… I just woke up," Desmond says with a sigh and stands up. "Ask me again in a couple of hours, once I've actually had the chance to take a look around the place. It was great meeting you all, though – it's nice not being the only… _you know_ … in the room."

"The only _freak_?" Soraya asks sharply.

"I was going to say _special one_ but thought it might sound a bit self-serving," Desmond says with a wry laugh and waves a hand at them. "I'm gonna go stretch my legs a bit more. You all have a good one."

They wave him goodbye while Desmond tries not to look too obvious as he pretty much flees. It's interesting, though, that people who were previously prisoners already have stuff to complain about – kinda indicative of how things have been going, while he'd been napping. Maybe he should've refrained, and maybe paid more attention to what was going on around him, but…

The group he met aren't the only ones who have gathered into sort of bunches – it looks like most of the Conduits have found some friends and started congregating into small clusters of three to five. Most all of them are hanging around the Mezzanine too, gathered around the balcony edges and similar uncomfortable lounge areas, and it takes Desmond embarrassingly long time to figure out why.

The mezzanine is the warmest place in the building. It had had sunlight coming down on it most of the day – the rest of the building is mostly shadow. People have some complaints about that, from what Desmond can tell, as well as the fact that the building has no lights, no running water, no creature comforts whatsoever. The place is, after all… just concrete.

"I mean, it beats Curdun Cay Station," one Conduit, Emily, says guiltily, while she and a couple of others sit in near darkness just at the edge of the mezzanine balcony. "But I was kind of really hoping to have a shower sometime soon, you know? Or a bath. Or _anything._ "

Yeah, Desmond could say he wouldn't have minded it either, and he's dying for a shave, but...

"At least in Curdun Cay we had proper bunks," another Conduit mutters – Desmond hadn't caught his name, though. "I mean, we got some pillows here, blankets, but they're far from beds."

Desmond hums, making a mental note of it. "There's a pile of pillows on the third level balcony – thereabouts," he says and points to where he'd been napping. "Maybe you can use them, put them together to have a bed of sorts."

"Hey, man, those are yours. You earned 'em," the guy says, shaking his head. "After what you did. I'm not gonna take away from _you_ , no way."

Feeling awkward, Desmond wanders on. Most everyone he comes across knows him by look – and everyone knows him by name. Turns out the thing he'd done to them, it had really made an impact, and not just because he'd supposedly saved them – which he honestly wishes he could argue against. He hadn't. He had just helped them do the thing themselves – but the one time he tries to argue, well. It gets him some weird damn looks.

"What," the Glass Conduit, Daniel, says with a snort. "You help those who help themselves? Are you really like a cleric or something?"

"I – what? A _cleric_?" Desmond asks incredulously, taken aback

"Eh, something Eugene – the angels, you know – said. Something about a video game character – about how you did what a Cleric would do. Healing people, empowering them with the power of the sun. Apparently, that's something a magical cleric would do. You definitely got the looks for it, too."

Desmond stares at him for a long moment. "Uh, no," he says and then again, a little clearer, " _No_."

Daniel laughs quietly at that. "Yeah, it sounded a bit like bullshit to me too, but I gotta say, the thing you did – phew! What a rush. You think you could do something like that again?"

"I could," Desmond says. "But I probably won't, not like that – not unless it's an emergency. Took a lot out of me."

"I bet, I bet," Daniel asks and looks up to the dome over the mezzanine. "I did that," he says, motioning to it. "Been trying to figure out _how_ ever since – there wasn't enough glass for that, I just had… a bus stop's worth of glass shards. That's like, two tons of glass. And I made it bulletproof. Do you know how I did that?"

Desmond looks up at it. "Well… no," he admits. "I've got no idea."

"Conduits can generate power sometimes – but it's usually energy Conduits, like Delsin, Eugene and Fetch," Daniel muses. "But it's not usually the same with physical stuff. Can't make concrete out of nothing, you know. Can't make glass, either."

"Hmm. Maybe you stretched out the molecular structure somehow?" Desmond muses.

"Or maybe everything Augustine told us about these powers was bullshit," another Conduit, Maribel, says with a snort. "I mean, she could never explain why this," she holds out her hand and a little burst of floating soap bubbles bursts out from her palms, "comes out looking like soap bubbles. She just said it was _membranes_ , like that makes any sense."

Desmond tilts his head. "What's your power?" he asks curiously.

The woman smiles, kinda meanly. "Chlorine gas."

"… um. Okay." That's kind of a weird one.

"Yeah. Don't ask me why it's gas, I have no idea, but it's gas, and it comes out as soap bubbles," Maribel says and pops the little bubbles with her nails. "Don't worry, there's not enough here to be dangerous," she promises. "My power is pretty useless, all things considered."

"Maybe you just need some training," Daniel offers.

"Tch," she answers and then glances at Desmond, thoughtful. "When you powered up, I created easily thousands of Chlorine bubbles. Do you think, with your power…"

Desmond excuses himself pretty quickly from that conversation after that, and continues on wandering around the place. He walks past a bunch of older people trying to sleep on the ground, some of them with dirty looking pillows piled up under them, very few of them looking particularly comfortable in their situation. There's water canisters strewn about along with some food containers, probably from the truck they'd raided, and already the place looks a bit like an abandoned building.

Everyone he encounters who's awake greets him by name. It never stops being a bit startling. More so is the picture he's slowly building in his head, though. That's pretty troubling, no matter how he tries not to care.

Leaning his elbows on the balustrade on the seventh floor, Desmond looks down the inverted pyramid and sighs. Delsin has a problem building up here, and it's pretty obvious. Not all the Conduits are unhappy with their situation, not yet, but a lot of them feel a bit let down, a lot of them were expecting better things. And while no one seems to blame Delsin or his companions for their discomfort, well… a couple more days like this…

Drumming his fingers against the concrete railing, Desmond pushes away from it and begins wandering back downwards along the stairs of the mezzanine, heading for level two – where Roselyn said she was staying with the kids.

"We have nine who are under the age of fifteen," Roselyn says, while they talk beyond the area where the kids are sleeping. "Three who are under ten. I've been asking around, and most here are either under the age of twenty, or over fifty. Not many in between,"

"Hmm, I guess the people in between went their own way," Desmond muses.

"That they did," Roselyn agrees, leaning her elbows on the balustrade and sighing. She looks troubled.

"Something on your mind?" Desmond asks.

"Delsin Rowe," she says. "He's younger than I thought."

"Not _that_ young," Desmond says, folding his arms. Delsin's definitely over twenty, he's not exactly a kid. "He's a grown-ass adult."

"Which maybe makes it worse – he's _inexperienced_ ," Roselyn says and glances at him. "He had a damn good start here, definitely. Started with a bang, that boy did. But I'm not sure he can follow through, not if the last day is anything to go by."

"I kinda missed most of it, but I see what you're getting at," Desmond agrees, humming. "I think people here are a bit quick to judge, though. It's just been a couple of days, no one can fix the world in a couple of days, not even Delsin Rowe."

Roselyn looks at him and hums. "No, maybe not. But that's not the issue – _order_ is the issue," she says. "There is none here. He built us a home and then left us at loose ends – which works, I suppose, in a pinch. But we're sadly people used to the structure of a _prison_ – this kind of freedom to choose, it won't sit well with us, not in a while."

Desmond frowns, looking at her. "You think things are tense because we were prisoners?" he asks slowly. "And because we _miss_ being prisoners?"

"We miss _structure_ , and we will, whether we want to acknowledge it or not," she says. "In Curdun Cay Station, they told us how to do everything. When to sleep, when to eat, when to clean up – most of the time, they did those things for us. Everything was on schedule, it was timed, ordered. Here – there is nothing."

Humming, Desmond looks at the mezzanine, with its little clusters of light, of people huddling around those lights. Bunch of lost souls, still in the darkness.

"Everyone here is waiting for Delsin Rowe to tell them what to do," Roselyn comments. "And he's not saying much of anything. It's not his fault, like I said, he's inexperienced. But if he told us even just to _suck it up_ and to deal with the discomfort, that it was just how things had to be for now… that just by itself would be comforting. Do you understand?"

"Hmm," Desmond answers. "Not really."

Roselyn chuckles. "If you tell a kid that he has to eat his vegetables in order to get dessert, he will cry and complain about it and probably not get either," she says. "If you put vegetables in front of him and tell him, _that's it, that's all there is_ … he's much more likely to eat the vegetables."

Desmond gives her a dubious look.

"Okay, it doesn't always work, but – uncomfortable things are easier to handle when you have the certainty that it has to be done," Roselyn says. "Dangle the possibility of nicer, easier things in front of you, though, and suddenly the discomfort is multiplied and you're less likely to handle it. Uncertainty makes everything worse."

"Which boils down to structure and order," Desmond muses. Well, she put it more, uh… academically, but he'd kind of been thinking along the same lines. What he'd been thinking was that these people need jobs – something to do, something to redefine who they are.

A Mentor to tell them, _welcome to the Brotherhood, Novice, now get off yours ass, it's time to get to work_.

Smiling faintly, Desmond shakes his head and pushes away from the balustrade. "Someone should probably talk to Delsin about this."

"Someone should," Roselyn agrees, giving him a look.

Desmond arches his brows at her. "You know I'm still the _guy from the Pit_ right?" he asks. "The one that killed a lot of people and needs to be watched out for."

"All the more reason to listen to you, isn't it?" Roselyn comments. "You're also the guy who saved a lot of us from being shot, who healed us, who everyone now thinks has the ability to power up any Conduit you choose. I think there's a lot of people here who'd probably jump at your say so."

Desmond's face falls.

Roselyn arches her brows at him, pointed, and then turns to head back to check on the kids. Desmond stares after her and then turns to look at the mezzanine again. It's even darker now – above the glass dome the sky has gone black, what little light there is the concrete eats away, making the place darker and darker as the minutes tick by. The little clusters of people with their little lights seem even further lost in the shadows.

Desmond thinks of the way everyone greeted him, the way they all knew him – the way they spoke to him. How more than one asked him, not so nonchalantly, what he thought they should do, or what he was going to be doing. Then he leans his head back and peers up at the glass dome.

"Fuck," Desmond says, heartfelt, and for a moment he's tempted to go back to his pile of pillows and see if he could just sit this one out, ignore the whole thing, stick to his… whatever it is he has going on. Just _nope_ out of it. He'd done it before, he could do it again. Even if it had blown up in his face with the Assassins. And probably would blow up in his face with the Conduits, too.

It… would also kinda make him a hypocrite, wouldn't it, considering what he'd told Delsin. He hadn't exactly thought it would apply to himself, granted, when he said it, but… yeah.

"Okay," Desmond says to himself. "Right. _Shit_."

Then he turns away from the balustrade and goes out looking for Delsin.


	10. Chapter 10

"Okay, gotta hand it to you – that is impressive."

There are four whole _cargo containers_ sitting there, on the rather hastily made loading bay of their new Conduit sanctuary – four cargo containers of what Eugene and Fetch assure is mostly food, medicine, hygiene stuff, clothes, the works. Granted, the clothes are mostly military crap, but hey, clean undies are clean undies, no matter what brand they're on, and the trousers and shirts at least would probably be appreciated. And boots. Most of the Conduits are still running around barefooted, after all.

"Should be enough to keep everyone fed and watered for a while, yeah," Fetch says, patting one of the containers. "Oh, and there were six generators in there, which we grabbed too – they're not big or impressive, but they should power up some fridges, lights, heaters and such no problem, keep the food we grabbed in better state. Grabbed some fuel for them too, obviously."

"That's great news, man – people have been kinda worried," Delsin admits, scratching at his scalp through his beanie. "Any chance for beds and stuff?"

"No, but we got sheets and stuff," Eugene says, dropping down to sit on the concrete pier Delsin had erected, groaning quietly as he slumps down. "Aw, man, that was a _lot_."

"You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's just – they were heavy," Eugene says and blows out a breath. "Everything okay here while we were out?"

"More or less," Delsin agrees, a bit awkward. "I mean, the Conduits aren't thrilled about the living conditions, and it got pretty cold once the sun went down – turns out, Conduit concrete doesn't hold heat too well, who would've thought. This should soothe some nerves, though."

"Yeah," Fetch agrees, looking at the building. "Kinda eerie that it's all dark like that. Makes me want to run neon all over it."

"Be my guest, we could use some light," Delsin snorts and then looks at Eugene. "Any chance you kept track of what you grabbed, Eugene, my man? Could be nice to know what we got to work with here."

"Is water wet?" Eugene asks and pulls out his phone, holding it out. "Itemised and everything. Have at it."

Delsin grins at him and accepts the phone. Of course Eugene kept track – his tracking is impeccable, too. "Sweet."

"There's still other storage hubs we can probably raid, but the second one we stopped by had some military people in it, they weren't too happy," Eugene says, while Fetch takes off at Light Speed, drawing purple all over the dark concrete wall beside them, lighting the whole area up. "I think the other places will be guarded from here on out. Military's taking control over DUP resources."

"Well, crap," Delsin mutters. Can't go after military stores without pissing some people off, so that'd be no go in the future, then. "Still, this is better than nothing, definitely," he says, scrolling through the list. "We'll hand the clothes and stuff out, figure out where to put the generators and the space heaters and whatnot. Don't suppose you grabbed any porta potties?"

"I'm _sorry_?" Eugene asks, taken aback.

"Toilet situation is – not ideal," Delsin grimaces. "Most Conduits here still have bodily functions, you know. And we don't have plumbing."

"Oh, um. No I didn't?" Eugene answers, rubbing a hand over his neck. "Didn't seem like a priority, um. There were a few though, I guess I could go and get them?"

Delsin sighs. "Well, it's not – critical," he mutters. Kinda lame, as superhero missions go, too – just imagining the headlines makes him cringe. "We'll figure something else out, it's fine. Anything else happen while you were out there, anything interesting?"

"We saw a few DUP Conduits – the concrete guys," Eugene admits. "They didn't attack us, but they followed us for a while."

"Hmm," Delsin answers, frowning. "You think they're gonna be trouble?"

"Honestly not sure?" Eugene says and sits up with a groan. "I mean – it's weird, you know? They're Conduits too. They were made to hunt other Conduits, sure, and they worked for DUP and Augustine, but – DUP is pretty much gone, now, so… I just wonder what it's like for them, now."

Delsin grimaces and hands Eugene his phone back. "Another bridge to burn when we get to it, I guess," he says. "Can you send the list to me? I'm gonna start getting some of this stuff out and inside – probably better start with the generators and heaters…"

"I'll help," Eugene says.

"Nah, man, you look wiped – go have a break. I've been doing pretty much nothing for hours now, I got it," Delsin says, waving a hand. "Go grab a Video snack, or something. Eat a burger ad. Actually, can you taste food ads?"

"No?" Eugene says, giving him a weird look. "And I don't _eat_ Video any more than you do, just because I metabolise energy –"

"I was trying to make a joke, man, never mind," Delsin says and waves a hand at him. "I'm just a bit wired, okay, it's been a weird couple of days."

"Yeah," Eugene says. "Yeah, it has. You sure you got this?"

"Hey, if I can't ferry around a couple of generators, we're in a bad state," Delsin says with a snort. "Go take a break, I can handle it."

Eugene heads inside, flickering to invisibility as he goes, and Delsin sighs, left alone with the night breeze in his hair. He's been on the edge for most of the night, waiting for them to come back, and having them actually back safe and sound didn't do much to expel the restless energy. It's a weird feeling, being left behind, waiting while others did important stuff, and he's not sure he likes it.

"Right," Delsin mutters. Hauling around some heavy generators would probably do him good, so… better get started with it.

He's just about gotten the cargo containers open, when Fetch flashes back to him, momentarily lighting the whole area in purple. "Hey," she says. "The Pit guy, Desmond? Says he's looking for you. Looked important."

"What now?" Delsin asks. "Last I saw him, he was napping away on the balcony, and it wasn't that long ago – what the hell could've changed in four hours?"

"Dunno, man, he wouldn't say. Just said he wanted to talk to you about something," Fetch says. "Should I tell him off?"

Delsin blows a breath. If the guy had something important to talk to him about, then… ugh. "You know what, nah. He wants to talk to me, he can make himself useful. Send him here, he can help me haul generators."

Fetch arches a brow. "You sure?"

"Not even a bit, but yeah," Delsin agrees and snorts. "It's fine, Fetch. It's probably fine. Maybe."

"Comforting," Fetch says flatly, shaking her head. "I'll get him, and then I'm gonna hang out on the rooftop with this fine bottle of whiskey I found, and if you got any problems, you just holler."

"Aww, you're worried about me? That's so sweet of you, Fetch."

She gives him a slight shove and then she's gone, running across and up the wall, disappearing through a balcony and inside. Delsin peers after her and then shakes his head and gets back to work, pulling the metal doors wide open and then wishing he had Neon or Video charged up, and not Concrete – Concrete doesn't make much light.

Well, camera flash is still a thing.

Delsin has his phone in his mouth, and is using it as a torch while hauling the generators out of the mess inside the container, when Desmond peers down from the second floor balcony, looking around for a way down. "Couldn't find a door," the guy says. "Or stairs – did you just make this part without any?"

"Yeah, it was kinda a last minute addition, forgot to add a door, sorry," Delsin admits, and then quickly catches his phone before it can hit the concrete and crack. " _Shit_ – hang on a moment, I'll make a set of stairs for you –"

"Don't bother," Desmond says, and vaults over the balcony's concrete railing, dropping down without hesitation. Well, it's not much of a drop, and the guy is a Conduit, even if supposedly one with limited capabilities. "What's with the shipping containers?" Desmond asks, nodding at them

"We commandeered some stuff from DUP storage," Delsin explains, shutting the light on his camera. "Food and clothes and stuff. There's also hygiene stuff here, probably some razors too…" something that the guy kinda needs more than anyone, unless he decided to keep the hobo-viking beard, and seriously, Delsin had seen his before-Curdun Cay pictures, and what a waste...

"And generators, I see," Desmond comments, looking at them. "Huh."

"Figure I'd get these in first, get some indoor heating going," Delsin says. "Since people say it's too cold inside, and we don't have heating. Should make people a bit more comfortable."

"… right," Desmond says, slow, like he's either having a revelation, or is very dubious about the whole thing.

"What?" Delsin asks suspiciously.

"No, just – well, now I just feel silly," Desmond comments. "It's kinda what I came to talk to you about – not heating, exactly, but, uh. People complaining."

Delsin hesitates and then pushes his phone into his pocket. "Okay," he says slowly. "If it bothers you that people are complaining, then go somewhere where there aren't people, man. It's a big building, there are places where you can be alone and won't have to listen to anyone."

"What? No, I mean – that's not it," Desmond says and then makes a face. "Um."

"Hey, it's a shitty situation, okay, and no one's in a particularly good mood," Delsin says, giving him a look. "We're still kinda roughing it out here, and people are gonna complain, okay. If it bothers your precious balcony napping, then, tough damn luck. I'm not going to tell anyone to shut up just because you –"

"Dude," Desmond says, shaking his head, and now he sounds almost amazed. "That's not it. Also, _geez._ "

 _"What_ then?" Delsin demands.

"Well, now I'm not sure I should say," Desmond says, snorting. "Gonna end up looking like an asshole, with you getting all defensive like that."

Delsin makes a face, shaking his head. "Just tell me."

Desmond clears his throat and then sighs. "Well, um. Aw, man, now I just feel _bad_ about this. Okay, here's the thing," he says. "So, your people here, the Conduits, not all of them are… very happy. Or confident about this whole… thing," he motions to the building. "They kinda feel like maybe they went from one prison to another."

"Okay? I mean, yeah, I noticed, but we're working on it, we're going to make the building better for everyone – and no one's actually trapped in here. It's a work in progress, okay – what about it?" Delsin demands.

"Well, uh… I think we've got a little bit of a – schism happening here," Desmond says awkwardly.

"I – what?" Delsin says and then holds up a hand, shaking his head. "What the hell are you on about – schism, that's like, shit that happens to _religions_? What the – did you have a bad dream or something?"

"What, _no_ – I woke up, I walked around your fine concrete block of a building, and a lot of people asked oh so casually about what I was gonna do next," Desmond says, shaking his head. "In the _which way are you going to jump, because I might jump that way too, if you know what I mean,_ way."

Delsin opens his mouth to demand what the hell that's supposed to mean and then stops, taking in the guy's expression. "Wait, you think – what? Like, if you left, people might leave with you?" he asks.

"That, or…" Desmond gives him a look and when Delsin just stares back, he sighs. "Come on, dude, it's not that hard a thing to figure out. I got a lot of good will from the whole throwing up power at everyone thing. I'm a bit older than you, I've been in the same situation as those guys, I'm supposedly strong, and I was in Max Sec lockup, which, as much as I hate it, makes me seem like a big deal. Connect the dots."

"Hey, don't get snippy with me just because _you_ aren't making any sense," Delsin says and then rewinds back a little, while taking him in. "So, what you're saying is that… if you were to – huh. Is that what you're doing here, challenging me for, uh… leadership?"

Desmond blows out a relieved breath. "No," he says. "I don't even know half of what's going on, I don't want to take charge. But you're… kinda mucking it up in places." He glances away, at the cargo containers. "Though maybe not as badly as I thought you were. Which is a pleasant surprise."

"Thanks, asshole," Delsin says, flatly – wilfully ignoring the fact that he had nothing to do with the containers. "Okay, so, if you're not here to challenge me or whatever – why are you here? Aside from being a dick. Is this you warning me or something?"

"Nah, I thought I'd make things easy for everyone and just pledge my loyalty to you."

It takes Delsin a beat to figure that out. "What?" he then snaps and shakes his head. "No, wait – _what?_ Are you for real?"

"Yup," Desmond says. "See, if I don't, then it's gonna hang over everyone's head as long as I'm here – even if it turns out you're doing this whole leadership thing better than people assumed, there's still some room for growth, and honestly, while you're running around doing things, you're not running around _ruling_ things, and that's a kinda important part of this too –"

"What the – I don't want to _rule_ anybody –"

"– so, if I don't do anything, well, then the chance is always there, and people are always gonna be wondering, _when is Desmond gonna jump_ ," Desmond concludes. "And who knows, I might be better at jumping than you are. Metaphorically speaking – jumping in this case meaning taking charge. Um. Sorry – I just woke up a little while ago, and I wasn't really expecting this."

" _You_ weren't expecting this?" Delsin asks incredulously, waving his hands in the air. "Man, I don't even know what the hell you're on about!"

Desmond scratches at his beard awkwardly. "I just don't wanna cause trouble, okay?" he says. "If I side with you, publicly, then it will close the schism in the group here before it has a chance to get worse. Should be still early enough that we won't end up in some sort of weird power struggle."

Delsin stares at him and then blows out a breath. He feels a bit like someone just dumped something foul-smelling at him, and he only half understands why. "Wait, you seriously think I'm messing up the whole being a leader thing?"

"I mean," Desmond says, looking at the shipping containers. "I think people here are way too impatient, and they should give you some slack, maybe, but also… yeah?" he admits. "Though not as badly as I thought."

"You thought I was doing even worse – okay, cool, great. So, o great leadership guru," Delsin says, frowning at him. "What am I doing wrong?"

Desmond looks at him sort of sideways. "Well, to start with, you're not telling people what to do."

"Well, that's because I don't want to tell people what to do!" Delsin says, throwing up his hands. "You think I want to be like – like some sort of tyrant, no way, man."

"Well, then you _shouldn't_ be a leader, because telling people what to do is kinda it," Desmond shrugs, watching him thoughtfully. "Why do you think most of these people came here, Delsin? They came here because they figured you knew what you were doing, and in conjunction, they would eventually know what they're doing, and what they are, following you. We heard your speech, all the stuff you did, and we thought, _here's a guy who's doing things right, maybe if we follow him it's going to be alright_."

Delsin stops at that, his hands dropping. "Oh," he says, and frowns. "I mean – _yeah_ , but – huh." Sure he'd known it, kinda, but… no one had exactly put it into words.

Desmond arches his brows. "In the name of honesty, you're doing good things, and you're a _good_ guy, that's kinda… painfully obvious," he says and Delsin makes a face at him. Desmond shrugs. "But you left these people at loose ends when they were expecting something else. They feel uncertain, they're unsure of their footing, and they're looking for firmer ground. And I'm not it, but they think I might be, because I did one thing right when it mattered."

Delsin makes a face and runs his hands over his face. "Do you _have to_ use so many metaphors?" he mutters.

"Sorry. The subject struck an old chord," Desmond shrugs and gives him a look that's almost sympathetic. "Not trying to be an asshole, just figured you'd appreciate a bit of honesty, this early on your… career."

"Yeah, screw you too, man," Delsin answers with a sigh, which earns him a chuckle, and then looks away. The annoying thing is, the guy seems to be completely sincere. Whether he is pulling the whole thing outta his ass, Delsin isn't sure, he might be, it sounds so dumb, all of it… but at the same time… "Just, outta curiosity…" Delsin says, half sarcastic, throwing him a look. "… What should I do better, then?"

Desmond hums, considering him and then the crates. "Well, first things first, pick a few strong guys among the people at loose ends, and tell them to come here and start hauling this stuff in, and make it seem like it was always the plan. Delegate some of this stuff to them. After that, pick up where you left off with the building."

"I _am_ " Delsin says, making a face. "I'm figuring out the water situation – we're going to put water towers on top, run pipes through the building, get running water. And with these generators, we should get boilers going too, get us some heating inside."

Desmond looks a little surprised at that, arching his brows. "Okay. So you _are_ doing stuff for the guys here."

"Of course I am! What do you think I've been doing?" Delsin demands, annoyed.

"I don't know – no one knows. That's also a bit of a problem. Information, and how no one's got much of it," Desmond shrugs. "Maybe let these people know you're working on things – maybe invite them to work on things with you. Stop doing stuff alone – you got people now, so give them work, make them feel like they're part of the thing they joined."

Delsin _really_ wants to argue with that. "There isn't a _thing_ ," he says and it comes out sounding a bit lame even to his ears. "There isn't, I'm just – one guy."

Desmond shakes his head at that, and it's definitely all sympathetic now. "Sorry, man. You aren't. Not anymore. You're a leader of a _thing_. Either own up to it, or…"

"Or you pick up the slack?" Delsin asks with a snort, arching his brows.

"Actually, there isn't an _or,_ because I am _not_ picking up the slack," Desmond says and shrugs. "But I could share the load, for a while."

" _Uh-huh_ ," Delsin says, torn about whether to believe the guy at all, or just dismiss all of this as some sort of weird power play. He has no idea what's even going on here anymore. Geez. "Okay, fine. You can share the load by picking up those space heaters," he says, waving at them. "Let's… get some of this crap inside so that I can ask people to help us carry the rest in."

"Atta boy," Desmond says, patting his shoulder on the way to picking up the heaters, and Delsin seriously considers knocking him into the water. It would be mean, sure, but _oh so satisfying._


	11. Chapter 11

Delsin Rowe is interesting. The guy doesn't seem suited for the role he's somehow put himself into, but at the same time, he has a knack for it that reminds Desmond of… a lot of people, actually. Kind of Altaïr, kind of Ezio, kind of Edward – there's that quality to the guy that's hard to define. The _stepping up to the challenge and screw the consequences_ quality.

The guy is rough around the edges, yeah, doesn't seem too used to having people at his back, or having people _follow his lead_ either. Definitely he isn't used to being an authority figure – it's kind of amusing, watching him flounder under the regard people give him, the respect they obviously think he's earned. And he _has_ , but Desmond can tell the guy doesn't think of it that way. He didn't do what he did for respect – not even because it was the right thing to do, though it was. He probably did it because in his eyes, it just had to be done. So he did. And it shows.

It's that last part that gives the guy the biggest problems when it comes to leadership, though, Desmond muses. Delsin Rowe is maybe too used to doing things his own way and by himself. He relies on Fetch and Eugene, sure, but even that seems a bit begrudging, a bit hesitant, like he's not hundred percent sure they got his back. Maybe there'd been times when he'd been let down, maybe he'd lost someone – there was that mention of his brother in his speech, too… whatever it is, there's a hint of _once burned, twice shy_ there.

There's also something _special_ about the guy. It's not just that the guy seems to be a prodigy of Conduitness, and his power is… frankly a little upsetting with how powerful it has the potential to develop. It's not even that he was born to be great or anything like that – though that argument could probably be made of all Conduits, seeing that it is genetic. It's something else. His attitude maybe.

The guy doesn't hem and haw, not one bit. It's kinda refreshing.

"Alright, alright, can I have everyone's attention please?" Delsin calls over the mezzanine, standing on top of the central pillar, with the rays of early morning sun and _wings made of video tears_ at his back, looking like the weirdest angel ever. "So, some of you might've heard, last night Fetch and Eugene did a little scavenging for us, scrounging up some stuff from DUP storages, which are still scattered around the city – you might notice the space heaters we added to the mezzanine last night and the fact that we got some _lights_ here now, ain't that nice…"

There's a smattering of cheers for that from around the place, most of it confused. Everyone's paying attention, though, everyone's listening, moving to the balustrades for a better look. Desmond is watching too, leaning his chin to his knuckles, his elbow to the concrete, as Delsin continues.

"We got four shipping crates full of stuff – not all of it good stuff, I gotta admit, some of it is old DUP hand-me-downs, and that's a downer if there ever was one," he says. "But there's some clean socks, undies, and various other clothes for everyone, it's not perfect but it's something to start with. There's also more food, MRE's by the crateful, some cleaning stuff, soaps, shampoos, toothpaste, stuff like that. Lady stuff too. So, I'm looking for some volunteers to help disseminate this stuff around to everyone, to set up some service stations, maybe a storage room…"

It's not the greatest speech, all things considered – it's not really even a speech. But Delsin's definitely getting the thing on the way, and without bothering to make it overly complicated – he picks a few people in the crowd, telling them to, "Hang on for a moment, got another thing to say," and then moving to the other things he's had in the works. Namely, water towers, running water in general, adding plumbing into the building, sewage system, wiring electricity throughout the building… basic amenities.

"Gonna need some volunteers to help me with that, don't know crap about pipe works myself, so, if anyone got any expertise about that, it'd be appreciated," Delsin continues, casually sitting down on top of the tower to pick up some of the volunteers – which include, unsurprisingly, all three of their metal Conduits. "Awesome, awesome. Now, to the less fun stuff – or more fun, if you're a sociopath. The protest going outside and what we're gonna do about the government."

Desmond arches a brow at that while people lean in interestedly. He hadn't expected Delsin to get into it.

"First things first, the building. The Mayor gave us this area, so for now we got all the right in the world to stay, that's not in question, and no one is going to come try and chase us out of here," Delsin says. "I'm working on figuring out what the official… definition for this whole ordeal is, but chances are we're going to end up as some sort of non-profit organisation or something like that. Will tell you more when I know more.

"The protest we can't do squat about. The right to peaceful protest and all that, and so far the protest has been mostly peaceful," Delsin says. "And actually it's, like, three protests together – one is anti-Conduit one, which sucks, yeah," he pauses as people boo. "The second is anti-anti-Conduit protest, which is basically people protesting the fact that the first protest is happening, they're on our side. The last is just people protesting… I don't actually know. Everything, I guess? DUP, us, the military, concrete as a building material, destruction of the environment, littering… It's a whole mess. And we're not going to do anything about it."

"But they're protesting that we exist!" someone shouts.

"Not all of them, the anti-Conduit group is actually the minority, and sadly as long as they don't get into the territory of physical harm, property damage or hate speech… they got the right to their dumb opinions," Delsin shrugs. "Things have been tense in Seattle for a while, the people are roused up, they've got issues they wanna shout about – and so as long as they stick to the Rainier district, they're not doing any harm. So we're going to leave them be."

There's an uneasy silence after that, then some murmurings under people's breaths. Desmond listens to the tone of it and then waves for attention. Delsin's eyes find him immediately and narrow.

"So, is that why there's no bridge out of here?" Desmond asks leadingly, lifting his voice enough to carry. "To keep the protestors out?"

"Pretty much, yeah," Delsin says, slightly suspicious. "And to make sure no one can just drive up to this place with a bomb or whatever. Once things calm down, I'll make us a damn fine bridge."

Desmond smiles a little grimly at that. Well, that was the wrong thing to say....

"Someone might bring a bomb in here?!" someone demands in a high pitched, terrified voice.

"Well, they won't – can't – because no bridge," Delsin says soothingly. "We're not going to let anyone hurt anyone here, okay – the thing with the parking lot, it's not going to happen again –"

Another mistake, reminding people that the last time they'd felt safe they'd been attached with grenade launchers. Running a hand over his face, Desmond considers his options – speaking up to nudge Delsin in the way that would actually calm people down before he shoved his foot deeper into his mouth, or…? It would probably piss Delsin off if he did, definitely make the guy more suspicious of him, and it wouldn't exactly play well with the schism – if he spoke up over Delsin, that'd be undermining the guy's authority, even if Delsin didn't seem to fully grasp that he _has_ authority, yet. Shit.

Desmond puts up a hand again, as the murmurings get louder in the mezzanine, louder and unhappier. Delsin nails him with his eyes, even more suspicious now – but Desmond doesn't say anything, not before Delsin asks, wary and slightly irritated, "What is it, Desmond?"

It's loud enough, and unhappy enough, that it makes everyone quiet, makes them turn to demons – makes the schism widen, just a touch. Shoot. Gotta choose his words carefully.

"I know you got other duties for me," Desmond says, which is stretching the truth more than a little, but gotta establish previous command structure… "But let me be the first volunteer for the watch rotation anyway."

Thank God Delsin has one of _those_ faces and his confusion isn't _blatantly_ obvious as he parses what Desmond is trying to say. The other people in the mezzanine pick up the insinuation faster, not held back by suspicion or confusion, only taking the words at face value. Soon a voice calls out, "I'll volunteer for watch duty too," and then another, "Me too!" before more voices join in.

Delsin glances at them, then at Desmond, and then he frowns. Whether he gets it or thinks it's a trick doesn't matter – the concept is out there already taking root. That watches had been planned, that Delsin and Desmond had known about them, even previously discussed them, and Delsin had the ultimate authority over them. Little seeds of order in the frightful chaos.

It obviously doesn't sit well with Delsin, but thankfully he's not stupid enough to refute it. "We'll… set up the watch later today, alright – in a few hours, once the supply situation is handled," he decides. "Volunteers can come see me on the roof, and we'll figure it out. _You_ ," he points to Desmond, "have other stuff to do and would probably just end up sleeping on the job. So, denied."

"Aww, you got me," Desmond shrugs, smiling, as good-natured as he can. "Ah well, it was worth a shot."

There are few awkward chuckles around, and the tension is released. On the pillar, Delsin hops to stand up again, stretching out his arms. "Right," he says, clapping his hands together. "Let's see about those supplies then and get this party rolling! Volunteers, follow me – I got some heavy and not so heavy lifting for you all…"

Desmond leans onto the balustrade, letting loose an exhale and relaxing a bit as Delsin jumps down and begins coordinating the supply stuff. It's subtle, but the atmosphere is lighter now, more confident, and others seem to feel it – there's more spring in their steps. Things are getting done, and things are looking up. It wasn't the best possible outcome, maybe, Delsin could've maybe handled it better, but… it's a step in the right direction.

The schism is still there, though. This wouldn't be enough to bridge the gap all the way. In some ways, this might've made things worse, Desmond still spoke up where he perhaps shouldn't have – but ultimately, Delsin has affirmed his authority a little, and it's better than nothing.

Running a hand over his beard, scratching at his scar through it, Desmond decides he probably needs to make a show of it eventually, something to show that he's behind Delsin hundred percent, and not under him looking for a way up. Hmm… maybe he should power up the guy, for some sort of building project…

His train of thought is cut short by a blue and white angel descending on him from above, landing beside him with a flicker of screen tear. Desmond turns his eyes to it, brows arching.

"Well, that will never get old," he says honestly. "Hey. Can I do something for you? Does Delsin need a hand?"

"What is your ambition?" the angel demands.

… okay? "My ambition?" Desmond asks, slow, wondering. "I don't really have one? Unlimited, unhindered naps in the sun, and maybe one day a cold beer on the rooftop. If I can still digest beer, anyway – oh, and an orange, I want an orange –"

" _No_ ," the angel says, firmer. "What is your goal _here_?"

Desmond arches his brows at the angel. Ah. Well. "To _not_ get involved as much as I can," he says honestly and looks down at Delsin, who is talking to the Metal Conduits. Desmond hums, wondering – on the concern of security, having water towers up on the roof, out in the open… "Which sadly means I have to get involved a little."

The angel flickers in what Desmond assumes is agitation. "Are you plotting against Delsin?"

Well. That's direct. "No," Desmond says slowly and looks at the angel. "I guess I'm plotting _for_ him."

"Explain."

Shrugging his shoulders, Desmond leans his elbows on the balustrade and nods down to Delsin. "Your buddy has the shape of leadership down, sort of, but not the actual stuffing," he says. "I guess I'm looking to fill in the gaps before people here start looking for another authority figure."

"Such as yourself," the angel says pointedly.

Desmond hums and looks at him, it, whatever it is. Some sort of proxy for the Conduit making it, a techy astral projection. "I'm a _bad_ choice for the job, really," he says, wondering. From what he can tell, Eugene is a sort of all-rounder security guy – he does both tech and the actual physical security through his angels. Makes sense for him to have picked up on the undercurrents of power at play. "I got no ambitions for leadership, trust me," Desmond promises. "But I've got some knowhow. Might as well use it for the benefit of the people here."

The angel shifts, flickering, the image of it stuttering like a stuck video frame. "And that is all you desire?" it demands.

Desmond considers that seriously for a moment. What _does_ he want? "I don't know," he admits quietly and looks away. "I don't know if I want anything, really."

"All men desire something," the angel objects.

"Okay, what do you want, then?" Desmond asks. "What's your heart's desire, Eugene?"

The angel stills at that, taken aback. Then it says, somewhat tentatively, "A better life for my Conduit brethren. A cease of hostilities upon our kind. For no one to abuse us for their own benefit ever again."

"That's a good one," Desmond says, a little jealously. "A worthy desire."

"But not one you share," the angel assumes.

"Not one I've even been aware of long enough to make it my life's goal," Desmond corrects. "I've been in the Pit for seven years. All I wanted in those seven years was to get out. Well, I'm out now, and it's kinda embarrassing, but I never gave much thought to what I'd do once I got out, beyond trying to get in touch with people who knew me. And I already did that. So, now I've got nothing to do."

"And so you pledge your allegiance to Delsin, for no gain of your own," the angel says, thoughtful. "For the lack of anything better to do."

"And it seemed like the simplest solution to an oncoming problem," Desmond shrugs. 

They're quiet for a moment, watching as Delsint turns to lead the group of supply volunteers out of sight. The sun's almost directly over the mezzanine now, and with a sigh Desmond lifts his face to meet it. Through the dome it's not as strong as it would be outside with nothing in the way… but it's still good. He's almost back to a hundred percent again – could maybe power up someone, if there was a call for it. Could take a nap on the rooftop too…

Then the angel speaks again. "There is a message for you," it says, and reluctantly Desmond opens his eyes. The angel inclines it's head. "Which I have listened to for security reasons."

Desmond's good mood evaporates. "Oh," he says and swallows. "Great. Can I hear it?"

"Would you like to listen to it in private?"

That was honestly not a privilege he thought he was going to get. "Yeah, please," Desmond says and pushes away from the balustrade. "Lead the way."

The angel takes him slightly further away from the edge of the mezzanine balcony, but not quite into another room – a thing Desmond had noticed is that the angels don't go into other rooms. Must be a projection limitation. Still, it's far enough from other people that no one should be able to hear, and, really, Desmond is kind of indifferent to personal privacy anyway. The things prison does to you.

The angel flickers and spazzes and then begins playing audio seemingly from nowhere.

" _Seven years ago I buried an empty casket in an unnamed grave,_ " a slightly distorted voice, rough with age and feeling, comes through the angel. " _If that was a mistake, then I am sorry. But in the far more likely situation of this being a trick, a ploy to get at me… then know that there is no place on Earth that will protect you from me for invoking that name alone_."

Desmond blinks and waits, but there's nothing more – the message ends here. "That's it?" he asks, just to be sure.

"That is all," the angel agrees.

"Huh," Desmond says and stares at the angel for a long moment. "Okay. Thanks, I appreciate it," he says, and turns to leave, to find a sunny spot to sit down and think.

"Wait, that was your dad, wasn't it?" the angel says, still in the high and mighty voice, but the words sound younger now.

"Um. Maybe? I, uh… I couldn't tell by the voice," Desmond admits with a frown and shakes his head. "I don't remember his voice too well, it's… been a while."

"Do… do you want to try to reach him again? The message came from the same phone number you called on Delsin's phone – you could call him back," the angel suggests. "I could do it right now."

Desmond hesitates and then shakes his head. "I don't want to, and there's no point anyway – he's not going to believe a phone call. Voices can be faked, and all that."

"Oh," the angel says. "But, don't you want to get in touch with him?"

There's no reason to bother. If Bill's not in Seattle already, he will be soon. Desmond would see him when the man finds out where Desmond was… if he does, anyway. And honestly, Desmond isn't sure he wants to be found right now, anyway. Things among the Conduits are in a flux, and Desmond is just on the precipice of _caring_ about them, and adding in the shit storm that's the Assassin Brotherhood into the mix…

"I shouldn't have called them in the first place," Desmond admits quietly. "That was a mistake."

"But… that's you dad? Right?" the angel asks, quieter. "Don't you want to talk to him?"

"Not really," Desmond shrugs and then looks at the angel, wondering. "You care a lot, huh?" he comments, and the angel stills. Yeah, definitely projecting personal issues. "Hits a chord, I think. You got a difficult relationship with your parents too? Parents you're maybe thinking of getting in touch with?"

In answer, the angel _pops,_ disappearing into jittering pixels, which quickly scatter and fade away. Desmond watches as they disappear, leaving him alone in the shadows with the most immediate light source gone. Then he snorts, wryly amused. Yeah, definitely hit a chord there. Oh well. It's got nothing to do with Desmond. And he's got bigger things to worry about now.

Like the fact that he might've accidentally called down an Assassin raid on the Conduits.

Shit.


	12. Chapter 12

Couple hours into absolutely _nailing_ the whole leadership thing, Delsin had to admit – Desmond was right. 

The difference is kinda obvious – there's a whole another vibe in the air, and people are way more energetic, running around, doing things – doing what he tells him to, which is weird, but it seems to make them feel better. And Delsin supposes he can get why – there were times when he really wished he had someone telling him what to do. Well, there had been, but – Reggie was – he gets it anyway, sort of. That _at least someone got their crap together_ feeling.

It's still weird to be at the centre of it, but screw it, Delsin's _got it_ now, and so he runs with it. He picks a woman with an obvious go-getter attitude and clear desire to do stuff – and _opinions_ about how things are being done, and puts her in charge of basic necessities – food, clothes, hygiene stuff, sheets, and so forth. Soraya flails under the responsibility for like half a second, and then she decides to just freaking own it.

"I'm going to do this shit my way," she warns him.

"So as long as you don't screw anyone over and get the thing done, you're welcome to," Delsin says and waves her off. "Go forth and do your thing."

And okay, it might be mostly because he doesn't want to deal with the dissemination of goods, already the attempt to keep track of things is giving him a headache. But still. Appropriate delegation of duties and stuff, according to Google that's part of an effective leadership strategy.

He is so not letting Desmond know he googled the stuff out, though. Nope.

With the goods dealt with and Soraya setting up a freaking supply station in the lowest level of the mezzanine, Delsin works with the Metal guys, their only Water Conduit and the few people who know anything about construction, to try and figure out the water towers. Thankfully they still have a bunch of scrap metal left, the metal guys hadn't been able to utilise all of it, so there's stuff to work with.

Sanitation, it turns out, would be the easy part – for now, anyway. Just set up a big septic tank with means to empty it out and hope that by the time it filled they had some sort of deal worked out with the city's utilities. Having actually potable drinking water… even with the Water Conduit being able to make fresh water from salt water, it's apparently not good enough for drinking.

"Not for long – not without chemicals to keep it bacteria-free. Also, is it like distilled water, completely free of minerals? That can become an issue too," their main construction guy, Radomír, who was in school to become an engineer when he was arrested, explains. So there are chemicals to be considered too. And that's another headache in the making.

"Okay, um – can you figure out everything we need to make this happen, and get me a list?" Delsin says. "Chemicals, materials, whatever – write everything down and I'll figure something out." At least they should have something to write with now, thanks to the supplies.

So, with that job delegated away, next is the whole watch rotation thing. Googling that one doesn't help, because for some reason the internet thinks he's talking about wrist watches, like he's ever worn one in his life. Guard rotation and guard patrol gets him a lot of D&D stuff, which is slightly more helpful, but not much. The internet is just not on point with setting up watches the same way it was with leadership strategies. So Delsin wings it.

"I guess the basic thing we need more is someone on the roof, keeping an eye on things," he says to the volunteers – keeping a wary eye on Desmond, who's sitting on the edge of the rooftop and not even trying to pretend he wasn't sunning. "Preferably couple of someones on rotating shifts, who can keep each other company, and if something happens one of them can come tell the rest of us –"

"Tell Delsin first, of course," Desmond says without opening his eyes.

"- and the other can stay to keep an eye on things," Delsin says, blowing out a breath, giving him a flat look. " _Anyone_ got other ideas, just speak up, no one's gonna judge."

Desmond opens one eye and smiles a little, saying nothing.

So, they set up shifts – they've got seven volunteers, which is almost perfect, means they can have two guards on eight hour shifts around the clock with one Conduit in reserve to give the others a break as needed. Delsin lets the watch set up their own schedule as it suits them, and while the guys decide – and two gals, their watch is an equal opportunity establishment – Desmond gets up to talk to him.

"What?" Delsin asks, immediately a little on edge.

"You should have them pick a team leader – someone who's in charge of the others, to whom they answer to and who then answers to you," Desmond says quietly "It would streamline things."

Delsin smothers the urge to make faces at that, because, yeah. Good point, and he really probably should have thought about it – it had definitely been on the how-to guides. Damnit.

"Right," Delsin says and turns to the watch group. "Once you're done hashing things out, pick a team captain, okay? I want them to take a list of names and abilities, what you guys can do, in case something happens."

"And once you start, keep a watch log," Desmond says. "Anything unusual happens, write it down."

Delsin glaces at him and then nods. "Yeah. A watch log – should we make like a guard tower thing?" he asks Desmond under his breath. "For safety?"

Desmond gives him a pleased look and then glaces around. "Wall around the roof would probably be better," he says. "Not too high – just something to take cover behind. It's less threatening to outsiders, and this place is high enough for a decent lookout."

Delsin nods and then gets to it, drawing Concrete from the floor under them and charging it up. Having gotten a better handle on Concrete with all the building they'd done, it's not much of a problem to erect a waist-high wall around the rooftop. "For security," Delsin explains to the watch. "Now, if you guys got everything, we're going to leave you to figure out the rest amongst yourselves – now, if you have any problems…"

"I got a question," one of the watch guys, Sidney, says, holding up a hand. "What if we spot an attack – like a helicopter or something, with missiles? Do we shoot it out of the sky?"

Delsin thinks the guy has fire powers, maybe – so he probably could shoot a helicopter down. Hm. "... Let's hope it doesn't come to it, but yes, if you see missiles coming for us, you shoot them down."

"The missiles or the helicopter?"

"Both," Desmond says before Delsin can. "But ideally, try to get the missiles first."

Delsin glances at him and then nods to the guard. "Defend the building and the people inside it if you have to," he says. "But that's it. Even if someone attacks us, we're not going to throw the first punch, alright? Things are tense enough as it is."

"That means that even if someone starts throwing rocks at us, you don't answer with force unless someone's life is in danger," Desmond adds firmly. "People out there are probably looking for a way to paint us as the bad guys. Let's not give them any excuses. You got it?"

"Got it," Sidney answers with a brisk nod, and there are nods among the guards. "We won't let you down."

Delsin presses his lips together but nods. "Good. We'll leave you to it," he says and then turns to head for the stairs and off the roof, Desmond following behind him quietly.

"Sorry," Desmond says. "I don't mean to butt in, but, you know –"

"You know better?" Delsin asks, glancing at him over his shoulder.

The guy shrugs, awkward. "Dunno about that. I just wanna help."

"Uh-huh. Well, if it works, it works," Delsin mutters and sighs, telling himself he'll get nowhere getting angry. If he gets angry at everyone who knows more about crap than he does, he'll never stop being pissed at people, and that just sounds exhausting. "I just don't get you, man. What do you _want_?"

Desmond makes a thoughtful face at that. "Well. I actually have something I need to do, right now," he admits. "I need to go to the city."

Delsin stills in the middle of the stairs, turning to face him fully "You want to go into the city. Why?"

"I think my dad is here," Desmond admits. "And, uh… it would probably be better if I went to see him, as opposed to him coming to find me here."

Arching his brows, Delsin looks him up and down. Desmond is still wearing the prison onesie – the only thing he'd changed is that he's now got DUP-issue combat boots and a white t-shirt he'd pulled on, leaving the top of the prisoner overalls hanging tied at the waist. It doesn't make him seem all that much more trustworthy, honestly – even if it shows off the guy's tat, something Delsin can definitely appreciate.

"This being the same dad you sent your message to?" Delsin clarifies.

"Only got the one," Desmond agrees with a shrug, pushing his hands into his pockets. "He's also the leader of the group I was with, and, uh. It might be bad if he comes here."

"Because he's another known terrorist?" Delsin asks flatly.

"Because I'm not sure he'd come alone, and I'm not sure they wouldn't kill people," Desmond admits. "They're not _supposed_ to kill innocents, that's forbidden, but it's been a while, and I don't know what they've been doing the last seven years – because it sure as fuck wasn't their jobs."

"... Right," Delsin says slowly. "And what's that job, exactly? What does your group do – or what are they _supposed_ to do?"

"Make sure places like Curdun Cay Station don't happen," Desmond says. "Among other things – I just would feel better for everyone here if I dealt with it somewhere far away, okay? I don't want to bring my bullshit down on the Conduits. They don't deserve it."

"Uh-huh," Delsin says. "And you will pinky swear you're totally going to come back and not get into any trouble, right?"

"Sure, I'll do it right now," Desmond says and actually sticks up his pinky.

Delsin snorts. "You know, they've published a list of all the prisoners who were in Curdun Cay Station – including pictures – and there's a whole lot people are demanding get put back behind bars. And you're on the short list."

"Yeah, I figured," Desmond shrugs. "Sorry. My request still stands – seriously, you don't want those guys to break in here on their own, it's safer and better for everyone if I go meet them instead."

Delsin eyes him for a moment, trying to figure out how sincere the guy is. It's hard to tell with Desmond – sometimes he's earnest and sometimes he's indifferent, and they don't look all that different. "Right," Delsin says and then checks his phone. "Right – you think your dad is already here?"

"I'm pretty sure, yeah."

Delsin picks through his contacts and group and calls Eugene and Fetch. Eugene answers first, Fetch a couple seconds later.

"What's up, D? Something happen?" Fetch asks.

"You guys are both in the building, right? Can you take over for me for a bit?" Delsin asks, looking levelly at Desmond. "I'm gonna hop out to the city for a little while."

"Sure thing," Eugene says.

"Yeah, we got it covered," Fetch says. "How did it go with the watch and stuff?"

"We've got the ball rolling," Delsin agrees. "The water tower issue is on the way too – actually, Eugene, can you take a look at how that's going? They said they're probably going to need some materials, you'll have the best chance of being able to track them down."

"Already working on it," Eugene agrees. "I'm also looking into desalination, just in case – it might be a thing we can do with Conduit powers."

"That sounds awesome, man, lemme know if you figure something out," Delsin says. "Gotta go – give me a call if anything happens – I don't know how long this is going to take, but I'll come back immediately if I have to, okay?"

"Alright, Delsin, take care."

Desmond gives him a look as Delsin hands up. "You should've told them."

"I kinda got the impression this was personal, man, I'm trying to be sensitive to your privacy here," Delsin says incredulously. "What do you want from me?"

"It's private for me – for you, it's a security issue and liability," Desmond points out. "Also your seconds in command should know where you are and what you're doing."

"Oh, for –" Delsin mutters and then sends out a quick message of, _I'm taking our pet terrorist out on a walk to play with other terrorists in order to keep them from messing up our house, and APPARENTLY this is a thing I should tell you about for security reasons._

 _He's right, you should tell us these things,_ Eugene answers.

 _Delsin, you're an idiot and I'm glad it's you the guy imprinted on and not me,_ Fetch answers.

 _I'll track your signal, let me know if things go south_ , Eugene adds.

_Yeah, we'll come collect your remains and avenge your death._

"I have the worst best friends ever," Delsin concludes with a sigh.

Desmond chuckles. "Lucky you."

* * *

Desmond, it turns out, is one of those Conduits. Or rather, he isn't.

"Man, you're an _energy_ Conduit – how do you weigh _this much_?"

"What?" Desmond asks, defensive. "I'm not that heavy, I'm perfectly average for a man of my height, alright? Rude – don't you know you should never ask a –"

"That joke was never funny. How much do you think I weigh?" Delsin asks, giving him a look and then grins at the expression Desmond gives him, suspicious for a change. "Come on, be honest…"

"I don't know – you're kinda skinny. Hundred and fifty pounds soaking wet?"

Delsin snorts. "Yeah, no. Hold out your hands."

"What?" Desmond asks, now a bit wary.

"Hold out your hands, like this," Delsin says, cupping his hands in front of him, and then nods when Desmond confusedly copies the gesture. "Perfect," Delsin says and then jumps.

Desmond almost pulls his hands away before Delsin can do his thing, but holds, and so Delsin lands to stand on his cupped palms – not exactly as light as a feather, but… yeah. Desmond's hands don't even sag much.

"See?" Delsin asks and crouches down on the guy's hands, balancing on the balls of his feet. "Energy Conduit."

"... Huh," Desmond says, tilting his head. "You – are you fiddling with gravity or is it mass, do you not have any mass?"

"Don't ask me how it works, I don't know. Eugene might – he and Fetch are the same," Delsin shrugs – and really, in hindsight, it's kinda obvious that they don't really need to eat normal food anymore, and he's not sure why he assumed they did. Kinda embarrassing, that, but whatever. "I honestly thought you'd be too – you're _Solar._ Can't get more energy than that."

"Radiation girl might object to that, but yeah. Maybe it's the fact that I can't turn _into_ energy like you guys can. Man, this is so cool." Desmond lifts his hands a little, and Delsin with them. "I could just toss you, huh?"

"I'll fly back and kick your ass," Delsin says flatly. "That was kind of my plan – I was going to fly you to the shore, but you weigh a _ton._ "

"Hey – I weigh a perfectly normal amount, alright?" Desmond objects, giving him another slight bounce. "It's you who is the weirdo here, Tinkerbell. How come wind doesn't just blow you away? How come you aren't, like, bouncing all over the place like on the moon or something?"

"No idea. Maybe the powers compensate," Delsin shrugs and jumps off his hands, landing nearly weightlessly on the balcony railing. "I only bounce when I want to, really."

"Hmm," Desmond muses. "So how are we going to get to the shore if flying's not an option? I can't say I'm fancying a swim right now, but I can do that if there's no other way…"

Delsin considers that and then remembers Desmond vaulting over the balcony before. "How are you with parkour?"

"Probably a bit rusty, but I used to be decent," Desmond says modestly. "Why?"

In answer Delsin switches from Video, which he'd been intending to use before, and charges in Concrete again. "I'm going to make you a path, a _temporary_ path," he says and looks down to the water. It's going to end up public – there's no way people on shore won't see this. There's probably going to be pictures taken, articles written.

Better make it impressive, in that case.

"These things will start to go down the moment you step on them. Hope you can keep up," Delsin says and then jumps – channeling power as he goes. The water is deeper than he'd like, but there's plenty of Concrete on the bottom from the destroyed DUP towers – and so a slender concrete pillar rises from the waves just as he's about to plummet into the water.

Above him, Delsin can hear Desmond cursing after him colourfully. Looking up, Delsin grins and then lifts up more posts from the bottom, just enough of them to cross over from the building to the shore.

"Come on, Desmond, pick up the pace," Delsin calls at him. "Tick-tock!"

"Christ, okay, what the hell," Desmond mutters. Then, shaking his head, he vaults over the balcony balustrade and then drops down to the waterline. 

Delsin grins wider and then begins jumping ahead, glancing over his shoulder every now and then to make sure Desmond is keeping up and hasn't fallen into the water. And what do you know, the guy actually keeps up – even gaining on Delsin a little as they approach the shore, while behind him the posts crumble and sink into the sea.

There are definitely camera flashes going on as they go and people swarm the shorelines ahead of them, that might be a problem. Delsin looks ahead and then makes a few more stepping stones, aiming to the right, towards a building and away from the protestors.

"This way," he calls and leads Desmond down the slightly less crowded way. "Gonna end up having to prove those parkour skills, man, we're going straight to the roofs from here."

"Yeah, bring it," Desmond says, and up they go, racing to the finish line and then to the roof, where Delsin beats the guy just by seconds.

"Guess it's good to know you can be a dick too," Desmond grunts, pulling himself up. "I was starting to get worried that you were just – a boring goody-two-shoes. _Jesus_."

"Yeah, you're welcome, you asshole," Delsin says with a snort. "You alright?"

"Only sprained like four joints and muscles, no biggy," Desmond says, sighing and rubbing at his back and then looking at all the camera flashes aimed their way. "Well, aren't we popular?"

"Maybe should've changed out of the prison grab," Delsin says pointedly, giving him a look. "And shaved the hobo-viking beard – I checked, we have razors now, you know, we even have hair-cutting scissors and everything."

Desmond looks down at the orange overalls and shrugs. "Nah, I got a point to make," he says, running a hand through the beard.

"Right. So, where are we going, then – you do actually know where to find your dad, right?"

Desmond looks away, and there's a flicker of metallic sheen under the skin of his face, straight lines of gold, as his eyes literally light up. Delsin tenses slightly next to him while Desmond looks around with weirdly vacant and distant laser focus, searching for something and apparently finding it with unerring speed.

It actually feels _hot_ , when Desmond turns his glowing eyes on Delsin – like a sun beam through magnifying glass. "This way," Desmond says, nodding, and biting back a curse, Delsin follows him.

So much for limited powers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Conduit physiology headcanon number 2: Delsin Rowe is absolutely, positively yeetable.


	13. Chapter 13

Freedom… is kind of a thing that has lost its meaning to Desmond long ago. Which is probably sad and worrisome and some sort of insidious side effect of underlying trauma or whatever, but… freedom seems like a relative thing, always dependent on point of view, the framework you're viewing it through. And honestly, as insidious side effects of trauma, entrapment and seven years spent in darkness go, Desmond is probably lucky he only got indifference to his own state of privacy and liberty.

He could be terrified of the sky, for one, utterly traumatised by open spaces, incapacitated by the largeness of everything after so many years in a concrete cell. It's probably a miracle he isn't.

When you spent so many years alone in your head, with your own mind the only escape from reality… well, Seattle doesn't really seem all that… real. Neither does his own movement through it, following the golden trace of importance – it's like a dream, a memory, an assassin's mission from hundreds of years ago, when things seemed simpler, but weren't, not really. It's all just events in time, taking place in different locations, and so Seattle is just a set exposition for a new memory he's making.

The only thing that makes this _more_ is that the sunlight is real. And he's not just stuck alone in his head, imagining this.

Delsin is following him closely behind, never losing track of him. The guy could probably shake him off with ease if he wanted to, Desmond is way slower than him even without powers at play, and with Neon Delsin can actually _run up the walls._ But he's keeping pace, just a little behind, letting Desmond lead. It's almost nice. Desmond should probably mind it, because Assassins and secrets, but…

There's the indifference to his own privacy and liberty.

Desmond slows his steps on a rooftop of some six story building, first to jog and then to a walk. Delsin nearly goes past him with his floaty, weightless jump, before stalling to wait. Together, with Delsin sending Desmond sideways glances, they move to the edge of the rooftop.

They're in the harbour, overlooking a set of piers and warehouses and boats. 

"Well, that makes sense," Delsin comments, stretching. "I was wondering how they could've gotten into the city with all the bridges and roads still trashed."

"Weren't you going to fix them?" Desmond asks, distracted, trying to see which boat it would be.

"I will, but I'm waiting for the Mayor's say so."

Desmond draws his eyes from harbor, looking at him. "You're… waiting for the Mayor's say so?" he repeats slowly. "Why?"

Delsin shrugs. "It's probably going to be a big deal, publicity-wise. So when we do it, I want to be damn sure everyone knows _who_ does it," he explains and looks at the harbour, frowning. "They want to brush it under the rug like it's just an inconsequential favour we owe them for letting us stay, and I'm not going to let them. Once I'm done, the whole world is going to know the good Conduits can do,"

Desmond can feel his brows climbing high, and Delsin gives him a look. "I might not know crap about leading people, but I know how publicity works. I'm a graffiti artist – I know how to handle an image."

"... You're a _graffiti artist_?"

"I think we're getting a little sidetracked here," Delsin says, blowing out a breath. "Is your dad in here or not?"

Desmond shakes his head, amazed. Well, if that's not enough to bring his head back to the present, nothing is. _Graffiti artist_. Incredible. "Yeah, he's in here, and probably not alone. Can I see your work sometime?"

"Yeah, sure," Delsin agrees, shaking his head. "So what's the plan?"

"I figured I'd walk up to his boat and knock," Desmond admits. "And hope he doesn't try to kill me."

"... You think your dad might try to _kill you_?" Delsin demands incredulously. " _Dude_."

"Well, I don't know for sure, but apparently he thinks I died seven years ago and might be an imposter, so… it's a possibility," Desmond shrugs. "I don't think he'd succeed, mind you, but it's a possibility."

Delsin scratches at his hair through his beanie. "It's kinda possible that some people down there might want to shoot me," he admits then.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, busted up a drug operation working from here with Fetch not that long ago – sank a lot of drugs into the harbour. Most of the guys involved ended up arrested, but not all of them. Some of them might still be in there, and I don't think they'd be particularly happy to see me."

"... Right," Desmond answers. "Well, that complicates things. I'd rather not go in there under a hail of bullets. Hm."

Delsin leans back a little, looking around on the rooftop. "I can turn invisible and follow you that way, if that helps. They probably won't pay too much attention to you, it's not like the drug traffickers around here know you – except, you know, if they've been following the news and seen you on the list of Conduits who people think should've stayed in jail…"

Desmond arches his brows a little higher. The guy can turn invisible. Of course he can turn invisible. "You'd make a perfect Assassin, huh," Desmond muses. "Yeah, maybe I should've invested in a – hey," he then says and looks Delsin over. The guy has a hoodie under his vest. It's even white. "Can I borrow that?"

"What – no! I'm not giving you my clothes," Delsin says, backing up defensively.

"I just want the hoodie – to hide my identity. Come on, man – do you want me to get shot at?"

"If you didn't want to get shot at, maybe you should've ditched the _prison overalls!_ "

"Come on, it's just for a bit – I'll wear it in and out, and then you can have it back. I promise I won't get any blood on it – I'm good at not getting blood on white clothes."

"The fact that you actually know that is frankly disturbing," Delsin answers, making a face at him. Then he looks at Desmond's DUP-issue t-shirt and mutters a curse, quickly unbuttoning his denim vest. "You better not get it dirty. Or ripped. Or _anything._ "

"I'll treat it like the treasure it is," Desmond promises, watching as Delsin shrugs off the vest and unzips the hoodie – under which he has tartan flannel. It's kinda cute, like under the heavily decorated vest and punk appearance, Delsin Rowe hides an inner lumberjack. "You like your layers, huh."

"It's almost _December_ ," Delsin says, balling up the hoodie and throwing it at him. "It's cold, okay? Why do you think you're the one only idiot in a t-shirt? We're not all of us Solar plants impervious to temperatures."

"... Huh," Desmond says, straightening the hoodie out and pulling it on. It's a little tight on him, so he doesn't bother trying to zip it up, just pulls the hood up… as much as it will anyway. Even braided, the hair kind of gets in the way. 

And now he regrets not shaving yet, just a little. Chances of Bill recognising him with the beard aren't very good, probably. Hell, Desmond doesn't even know what he looks like these days – it's not like Delsin's sanctuary had mirrors. It didn't even have bathrooms, yet.

Oh well, it would make the realisation that much more impactful… hopefully.

Desmond tugs the hood as much over his head as he can while Delsin pulls the vest back on, shivering. It's kinda funny that he's cold. The laws of gravity don't work on him, but the laws of thermodynamics do – and apparently Desmond is the opposite. Funny how that works out.

"Ready to go now?" Delsin asks while buttoning up his flannel and the vest all the way up.

"Yeah, good to go," Desmond agrees, pulling the hoodie sleeves up to his elbows.

"Right – go on then, I'll catch up," Delsin says, reaching his hand towards a satellite dish sitting on the rooftop and drawing flickering blue and white energy from it. Desmond watches him for a moment, fascinated by the display of power, before shaking his head and turning to look over the roof's edge. It's a long way down – and there are no convenient hay carts in modern times. Pity.

Down the side of the wall he goes.

The place smells like still water, fish and wet wood, and not particularly great. If there's ever a moment for Desmond to develop agoraphobia, now would be the time, with the sea before him and sky above, and no ground underneath as he steps on the pier. Stuff of nightmares, clearly. But no, the sun is still shining on him, and Desmond fears nothing.

It's a weirdly lackluster feeling, really.

No one on the pier pays much attention to him... not that there are that many people there anyway. Few murmur something at the sight of his orange overalls, and a couple follow him with their gazes, but no one stops him as Desmond heads towards the gleaming boat, near the end of one of the piers. It's a small one, a motor boat with barely enough space for a two-person cabin inside.

It looks normal. It doesn't even have a name written on it. It's just… a boat. There's just one person inside. Just Bill and no one else. Why not?

Desmond eyes the boat for a long moment, looking for cameras, for surveillance equipment, anything, but he can't see any, not even with Eagle Vision. Nothing to mark this boat as special, except the fact that he knows it is. There are fishing poles sticking out from the back

It… smells like a trap, almost. Or maybe the opposite of a trap. A _letdown._

Sighing, Desmond takes his hands from the pockets of Delsin's hoodie and then raps his fist against the boat, wondering. There's no answer at first, no noise – but the person inside is moving, first to the front of the boat, then to the back. Then, slowly, the cabin door opens.

"Y-yes? Is someone there – what is it?"

A lot to unpack there. The voice, not just older, but playing it up, making the words soft around the edges, like how old people's voices go as they lose a few teeth. The _getup_ , good god. He's wearing a frayed vest and a _hat_ with a fish patch on it, and as he moves, it's with a slight shuffle, like he can't quite lift his feet right. A perfect image of an old man just back from a fishing trip.

It's ridiculous.

A little less ridiculous is how much smaller Bill looks than Desmond remembers. He'd been, he was – Desmond _remembers_ what he was like. Not the biggest guy, sure, but broad-shouldered and strong, stronger than Desmond had ever been for sure. He'd always stood so strong.

He seems small now. He's playing it up too, that's obvious, hunching his shoulders to make himself smaller, but… some of it is real. The weight loss is real.

Desmond has no idea what to think. Seven years, huh? "What the hell are you _wearing_?" he asks, incredulous.

Bill squints at him from under the bucket hat. The act doesn't hide how bright his eyes are, how sharp. "I'm sorry?" he asks. "Do I know you?"

Desmond pushes his hood up. "I hope so, because otherwise it's going to be very awkward when I deck you."

It takes a moment, a moment that stretches so far into infinity that Desmond starts wondering seriously if he's somehow ended up in an alternate universe where William Miles is a fisherman. For so long the old man just stares at him searchingly, looking at the beard, his arms, the hair, the orange overalls, the hoodie.

"Of course you'd find a white hoodie first thing," Bill then murmurs. " _Desmond_."

Desmond's eyes tear up, despite all the justified anger, the fury, the seven years worth of bitterness, just like that... his eyes fucking tear up. "Dad," he says, and even that's almost too much.

Bill almost falls off the boat in his hurry to get to him. Desmond has to catch him, and then Bill is hugging him. He's definitely lost weight, and almost all his muscle mass with it. He feels _small_ in Desmond's arms.

"You were in Curdun Cay Station," Bill says, his voice low, choked. "You were in the Conduit prison."

"Yeah," Desmond agrees, his voice breaking too. "Yeah, duh, good guess."

"We didn't know. We didn't know you survived."

Desmond laughs and squeezes him tighter. "Not fucking good enough," he says through gritted teeth. "That's not anywhere near good enough."

"We got autopsy reports, Desmond, we have a _video_ – they cut you _open –_ "

"Yeah, I remember – I was there. Guess they failed to mention I was _still alive_ in their fucking reports," Desmond says and pulls back to look at the old man. "They tried to kill me, dad. So many times, they shot me, they tried to cut me open and poison me, and I just kept _healing_ –"

"Desmond –"

"And I kept thinking, _any moment now my team will come and save me_ ," Desmond says, his voice dipping to a growl, his fingers tightening on Bill's shoulders. "And you never did."

"We didn't know!" Bill says quickly, gripping him back, trying to shake him. "We didn't know – we would have come, if we knew, I would have come alone if I had to… but we didn't know."

"Did you know that Curdun Cay Station had kids in there?' Desmond demands. "Innocent kids, experimented on just because they have the gene – did you know about _that_?"

Bill hesitates just long enough. "There was nothing we could've done," he says.

" _Bullshit_ ," Desmond answers harshly.

"The DUP is a government program – and do you really think it's the worst one? There are programs out there doing things to and with people with these extraordinary abilities you can't even imagine –"

"What, like _dissecting them alive?"_ Desmond asks sarcastically, pulling away from him.

Bill makes a face at that. "We have had our hands full these past few years – the world has changed, Desmond, and not for the better. You've missed quite a few developments –"

"Yeah, because I was in _prison._ In _solitary confinement_. For seven fucking years!" Desmond snaps. "Because you decided there were more important things to do than to look into the government-run prison torturing _children_ –"

"Desmond, calm down –"

"I don't fucking want to," Desmond says and points a finger in his face. "What was so important, hmm? Finding more PoEs? Having little bitch fights with Abstergo – what?"

"Trying to stop Juno from taking over the world, for one!" Bill snaps. "Trying to prevent _several_ repeats of Empire City. Yes, Abstergo too, do you think they were done being a problem? There have been a number of other global threats, none of which you will have heard about, because we succeed. I know it's not an excuse, but the world is full of threats, some of which we have faced and dealt with and others we have failed to rise against, and I'm sorry, but DUP and Curdun Cay Station were the lesser of several evils."

"Easier to have all the Conduits locked up than having to deal with the crap they might cause?" Desmond asks knowingly.

"Sometimes, _yes_ ," Bill snaps and then grimaces. "I didn't mean to – I didn't mean it like that."

"Yeah, no, you did," Desmond says flatly, pushing away from him. "I kinda thought it might be it, you know? I bet it was easier for everyone involved, not to have Conduits out and about, getting into god knows what kind of trouble, getting in the way of the ancient war. Better just leave it be, leave the kids in prison, best for everyone, really –"

"That's _not it_ , Desmond, that's not it at all – you're jumping into conclusions," Bill says, frustrated. "We have several Conduits in the Brotherhood, actually –"

Desmond snorts. "Right, right, and having black friends means you can't be racist. Lemme guess – they're special, they're good, they're not like the _other_ Conduits? Fuck you, dad –"

"Oh, _grow up,_ " Bill snaps. "The world is bigger than you know, and there's more going on than you realise. I am sorry, Desmond, I am truly sorry that we failed you in this, but there's nothing we can do about it now. We must look _forward_."

Desmond snaps his mouth shut, too angry for words. The sun's going down too, and it's definitely not helping with his mood.

"Now, what's done is done," Bill says, sighing, completely misinterpreting his silence. "You're here now, you're free – so let's go. There's a ship waiting for us in –"

"No."

Bill stops in the middle of climbing into the boat. "No?"

"No," Desmond says and pulls the hood back up. "That's what I came here to tell you, actually. Sorry for calling, I shouldn't have done that, my bad, please don't come looking for me again."

Bill blinks at that and then drops back on the pier. "What are you saying? Desmond, you can't just –"

"It was a mistake to call you, and I regret ever doing it," Desmond says and blows out a breath. "I don't care what reasons you had for not knowing or not caring about the people in Curdun Cay Station. I don't care if your reasons are good enough or not. I don't care about what big world-saving shit you've been up to. It doesn't really make a difference."

"Desmond –"

"Seven years in prison, dad," Desmond says. "I will never forgive you for that."

"We _didn't know_!" Bill snaps.

"Not good enough."

Bill draws a breath, and there's the old strength – the facade of a peaceful fisherman is gone, and it's an Assassin in front of Desmond. "Get on the boat," Bill orders. "We will talk about this, I _will_ make this up to you, but Seattle is about to become a powder keg of civil unrest, and we are leaving it, right now. _Get on the boat._ "

"No," Desmond says and stands his ground. "Leave and don't come back here, dad. If I see any of you again, I will put you in the ground."

"Desmond –"

"If _anyone_ comes after the Conduits of Seattle, I will deal with them personally," Desmond says, shaking his head, and turns to go. "That means you too, dad. _Leave_."

Bill let's out a growl. "Desmond, we can _talk_ about this!"

"I don't think we can, really," Desmond says and peers at the setting sun. "Hell, I'm not sure we ever could talk about anything, could we?"

For a moment Bill just draws deep breaths, obviously trying to calm down. "What are you going to do, then?" he asks. "Where are you going to go?"

"Back," Desmond says simply.

"Don't you want to know how Rebecca and Shaun are doing?" Bill asks, trying desperately for another tack.

"No," Desmond says, not quite honestly, but the line has to be drawn. "I won't ever be able to look them in the eyes and not know that while I was in Curdun Cay… they weren't."

"But don't you want to –"

"Don't try to reason this away, it's not going to work," Desmond sighs, shaking his head. "Seven years, dad. You had the ability to do something about it, but you didn't. I'm never going to get over it, and I will never not hate you all for it."

Bill's cheek flexes and then he scoffs. "And so you're going to blame others for things they had no control over and run away again, how typical. Your ancestors would be _ashamed_ –"

Desmond can feel sunlight sink its teeth in him, can feel it sink into his skin and bones, and Bill takes a quick, alarmed step back, almost stumbling on the pier. "You don't get to say that to me," Desmond says, and he thinks there's sunlight even in his mouth – he can feel it burning, glowing, radiating from every word. " _Now leave._ "

Bill is stubborn, but he's not an idiot. With last frustrated glare at Desmond, he turns and climbs back onboard his unnamed boat, far more nimble than he'd been climbing off it. Desmond watches, seething quietly, until the boat's engine turns on. There's no last minute speech, no last word, no message – Bill just heads off, turning the keel out and away from the pier, from Seattle, from Desmond.

Desmond exhales slowly, watching golden embers rise, and tries to figure out how to feel. Relieved, disappointed, angry, sad…? It was supposed to be cathartic, to finally be able to tell them off. It didn't, though. He doesn't feel satisfied at all.

"Well, shit," Delsin murmurs, appearing to stand beside Desmond. "For a moment there I thought I should put both of you on the ground. Are you alright?"

"No," Desmond answers honestly and looks down. "Do you think if I powered you up, you could fly me back?"

Delsin's eyes widen. "Maybe? I mean, Eugene can carry pretty heavy things when he's really going at it, so, in theory… maybe. You, uh, don't feel like walking?"

"Not really, no."

"... Alright, damn," Delsin says and pats him awkwardly on the shoulder. "Sure thing, man. Let's do it."

The light show they put up makes the evening news, but Desmond doesn't have the wherewithal to care – and if the Assassins took it for a warning, all the better, really.

Yeah, maybe he isn't that indifferent to his freedom, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly uncharacteristic outburst but you know... Bottled up emotions and Molotov cocktails and all that.


	14. Chapter 14

Even after expending some of the extra energy Desmond gave him in the creation of a frankly rather _excessive_ septic system, Delsin is still buzzing with unused energy. If being in the receiving end of one of Desmond's Solar Flares when he was just one of the many was electrifying, then, _whoo_ , it had nothing on being the _solo_ recipient. _Man_.

The Video wings Delsin made after Desmond juiced him up were _massive_.

"Oh-hoh- _hoh_ , I could get used to this. Man. You think you could zap us with one of these when we get to the bridge building and whatnot?" Delsin asks, afterwards, while still looking for something else to expend the energy on before he freaking explodes.

Desmond yawns, stretching. "Just lemme soak in some sunlight beforehand, and sure. I'm all done in right now," he says and then shakes his head. "Man, I _really_ need to figure out how to control the output of that."

Yeah no kidding. In the parking lot, the flow of power had been first come first served – the first ones hit with Desmond's Flares had also been hit the _hardest_ , the latter ones had gotten whammied a lot less by it as the power distribution had evened out. Still a massive surge – like being blasted with a core relay. And being the solo receiver was like being bombarded with several. It was a _lot._

Delsin crashes down from the power high sometime in the next morning to find he'd finished his graffiti mural and learned how to make concrete statues and that he and Desmond had made it to the news.

" _The leader of the Conduit Movement in Seattle, Delsin Rowe, was spotted last night putting up a quite the display of power in Seattle's Pioneer District – footage captured by passers by show him rising to the air on eighty foot angel wings, taking off towards the Conduit base off the shore of Rainier Beach…_ "

The footage also showed Desmond powering him up, though only Delsin could tell that – the camera didn't have a clear view to what caused the light and the news chalked the golden burst of power to something Delsin had done, before going off to speculate about what the reasons and agenda for the display were.

"I'm kind of curious too," Fetch comments, putting her phone away and eyeing the end-to-end piece Delsin had just finished. "How did things go on your little terrorist play date?"

In the power trip, Delsin had almost forgotten all about it. "Yeah, it was great – Desmond had a fight with his dad and disowned himself from the family business, and I think the family in general," he says and drops the spray can into his bag. "I think there were some previous grievances there, which seven years of forced ceasefire did not make any better, let me tell you."

"Uh-huh. So the guy renounced his terrorist ways and joined the side of the angels?" Fetch asks.

Delsin considers that seriously for a moment. "I think he has, yeah," he agrees and turns to look at the mural. "Also I don't think he was ever a terrorist, after all. He's _something,_ his group is definitely some kind of conspiracy thing, but I don't know what kind."

Fetch hums, sitting down on a concrete block to soak in Delsin's work. "Like the First Sons?"

"Damn, I hope not. Probably not. Saving the world has come up a couple of times, so…" Delsin shrugs, walking backwards to view his work in full. "I don't think so."

"Right," she says, stretching out her legs. "So, banging the guy wouldn't be, like… a lapse in morality of anything?"

Delsin almost trips over his feet. " _What the hell_?"

Fetch grins. "Saw him in passing when I was coming to find you. He'd _shaved,_ and lemme tell you – the guy cleans up _nice_."

Delsin stares at her, stunned. "You-you wanna –" he starts and then clears his throat. "Oh."

"Hey, we were one time thing, right?" Fetch asks, now worried. "That's what I said, remember – just fun, right, mixing work with play a little, no strings attached? I am not a relationship kinda gal, D. Shit – I haven't been leading you on, have I?"

"What? No! I mean, yeah, no, I got it, yeah," Delsin says, blinking. "I heard you loud and clear, Fetch, no worries, we're good. I just – _Desmond_? Really?"

"Well, I mean – the Viking thing was kinda hot too, but I'm not that into beards, you know? But now that he's all clean shaven, man," Fetch grins. "That's a face I could sit on."

"Uh, ew?" Delsin objects. "I am utterly _appalled_ and _mortified_ , Fetch, you _hussy_."

"Oh shut up – like you have a leg to stand on," Fetch says and then tilts her head, looking him up and down. "Actually – huh. _Oh, D_ , pot and kettle much?"

Oh no, what? " _What_?" Delsin asks, instantly on guard at the tone of her voice, at the leer she's giving him, and then looks down at himself, just to make sure nothing's off. Vest, flannel, jeans…

"I wondered where he got the thing, it looked familiar, but damn, D – you beat me to it?" Fetch asks, hopping up to stand with a little burst of purple. She looks utterly delighted. "You _dog_. Was it before or after he shaved? How was it?"

"What?" Delsin says and then, just a second too late, it clicks. "No, no, _no_ – you got it wrong, okay, you got it _all_ wrong. I lent my hoodie to him just so that he could hide his face, alright – his file had been on the news, you know, people might've recognized him while we were out. It was a temporary deal, alright – and then he whammied me with his Solar powers and I, uh… forgot to take it back."

Fetch laughs at him. "Your face, man – hah!" she crows. "Aw, man, that's funny. Also pity – that was a lovely mental image I just had there. I mean, you look pretty down there, I bet you'd look pretty riding his –"

"Okay, that's enough, keep it to yourself," Delsin says, trying not to blush like a damn teenager. "Geez, Fetch, we have better things to do, you know. Like the Second Age of Conduit kind. Remember that?"

"Uh-huh," Fetch agrees, still laughing at him. "That's why you're here, painting a wall."

"I was – you know that, never mind. I'm finished with the wall," Delsin says and spreads out his hands, just sort of throwing them up. "I'm back to business, alright? Delsin Rowe, all business, no fun. Now, did I miss anything, or did you just come here to give me a social media update?"

"Well, yeah, and no," Fetch says, chuckling. "Eugene sent me. The construction crew is done with their plans and they're looking for you – they're going to need you to add a bunch of stuff to the building, apparently, like service ducts and things, to run pipes and wires through."

"Great, awesome," Delsin says and grabs his bag of spray paints. "Let's go."

Fetch follows him, giving him a sideways look. "Soo… do you mind if I go after Desmond, or is his face already reserved for your ass?"

"For fuck's sake, Fetch _…_ "

* * *

"You know, this is starting to look more and more like a supervillain lair," Delsin comments, folding his arms as the others inspect his handiwork. "We even have man-sized ventilation ducts now. That's just asking for trouble."

"It's going to be filled with pipes and wires, and the only reason they're man-sized is for ease of maintenance," Radomír explains and tilts his head. "It does kind of seem that way, though, doesn't it?"

There's now a system of ducts going through the building, and seriously, they look totally manoeuvrable. There's even one of Conduits going inside – Miriam, who apparently was their best when it came to handling steel, and so she was doing the water pipes. As they watch, she reaches down with one hand and then pulls up a glowing snake of twisting steel pipes, which squirm out into the air and then settle, already cooling down.

Radomír shakes his head. "We need them straight, Miriam – if they are bunched up like that, it will be impossible to fix any leaks without you around. Can you separate them?"

"Yeah, yeah, give me a sec – they're just easier to manipulate when it's one big thing, you know, and not many little things…"

"Well," Delsin says, tilting his head and peering into the duct. Well, it would make vent dashing through the building nice and fast, if nothing else. Wonder if they would add fans in there, for actual air circulation... "Looks like you guys have things well in hand – need anything else from me?"

"Yeah – could you reinforce the bases for the water towers? We put in plenty of metal, but it never hurts to make sure – we are on a fault line, after all…"

Delsin goes to check out the water towers to give their bases a nice concrete upgrade. There's three of them, he finds, each in a corner of the rooftop, probably for structural reasons – the last corner is taken by a couple of satellite dishes and antennas that have Eugene's fingerprints all over them. Looks like people have been getting busy while he was doing stuff, that's all kinds of neat.

He has a moment to chat with the watch guys, who report that, yeah, the protest is still going on, but nothing major had happened - someone out there had given speeches from the rooftop, but it was too far away to hear. So far it had been, more or less, peaceful.

"Well, let me know if that changes," Delsin says, shivering a little - it's _windy_ up on the roof, and he's really missing his hoodie now. "You guys pick a team cap yet?"

They had - they'd even set up an office for the guy, so, that was nice. Delsin promises to go check up on the guy later, and bids them a good work shift, since that's a thing… they have, now. 

"Thanks, boss!" one of the guards says, and Delsin waves back, trying not to feel too weirded out by it. It's still weird, though. Probably will never stop being weird, if he's honest.

And then Delsin sees him, just lying there on the concrete part of the rooftop, arms behind his neck as he basks under the dim, cloudy, _chilly_ late November sky. Delsin stops, stares, and then thinks, _oh no_. And then he thinks of what Fetch said, and it gets _worse._

"You, uh – you got my hoodie," he says, trying not to stammer like an idiot. "I'd like that back now, please."

Desmond peeks one eye open. "Hey, Delsin," he says and yawns, pushing to sit up.

"So where is my hoodie, did you just –" Delsin says, scrambling for something else to concentrate on, and sees it on the floor. "Wait, were you using it as a _pillow_? What happened to treating it like the treasure it was?"

"Hm? Well, I kept it safe and clean, didn't I?" Desmond says, picking it up and throwing it at him. "I was gonna bring it back to you when I realised I still had it, but I couldn't find you. Where were you?"

"First floor – I was finishing up a piece," Delsin says, feeling weirdly defensive as he shakes the hoodie out, looking at it to avoid looking at Desmond. Well, it does look clean, so there's that at least...

"Piece – like a _graffiti_ piece?" Desmond asks, perking up. "You did graffiti here – can I see it?"

"Yeah, sure, if you'd like – it's in the first floor corridor, the one leading south," Delsin says, waving a hand. "The entrance hall corridor." Or what _would be_ the entrance hall corridor, once he eventually built the bridge to the shore.

"Sweet," Desmond says, smiling. 

Delsin clears his throat. Couldn't see that before, not properly. It's like it's suddenly in high definition. "I see you - cleaned up. Shaved, I mean. Not one for the viking look, then?"

"Yeah - never been much of a beard guy," Desmond agrees, scratching at his chin. "Figure it was time, after seven years. Man, it _itches_ though. I'll probably cut the hair too, but - never had long hair before and I sure as hell am not gonna grow it out again if I cut it… so I dunno yet. Gonna see how I like it after a bit." That said, he shrugs and stands up with a stretch.

Delsin looks away, at the water towers, at the satellite dishes, at the watch guys on the other side of the roof watching the shoreline, at _anything_ other than the way Desmond's shirt is riding up – it's not even that indecent, just a little sliver of skin, it's _nothing_ , and yet… _Goddamn it, Fetch,_ now he can't stop thinking about it.

"You want to show me your piece?"

" _What_?" Delsin asks, alarmed, clutching the hoodie tighter.

Desmond blinks at him. "The graffiti," he says slowly. "You wanna show me?"

"I just told you where it is, go look for yourself."

Desmond looks a little disappointed. "I mean, yeah, but –" he stops and sighs. "I guess it's just not the same as having the artist himself show it and explain what's it about, you know?"

Artist. _Right_. Damnit, the lack of the beard makes the pouting so much worse. "Alright, _fine,_ geez," Delsin says with a grimace and turns away. "Just… hang on a moment, I gotta do a thing first."

Desmond hums, running a hand over his now beardless chin and watching as Delsin turns to the water towers, pulling up concrete as he goes. "Been meaning to ask," the guy says as Delsin finishes the first base. "Do you, like… generate concrete from nothing, or do you stretch it out, or… do you just reshape it – how does it work?"

"I have no idea," Delsin admits, almost painfully grateful to have something else to think about, while walking to the next water tower. "I think it might be a little bit all of the above? If I have concrete around, I can make more concrete out of it, but it gets more and more brittle. But I think I can also generate it from nothing. Augustine definitely could."

"Yeah, she could," Desmond agrees, folding his arms, tilting his head to the side. "Hmm. I guess the whole business of Conduitness kind of breaks all the laws of nature, huh?"

"Yeah, which is why I don't think about it much," Delsin says, concentrating and then pulling up more concrete, to support the second water tower. "Trying to figure it out kinda ruins the magic, you know."

"Mm-hmm," Desmond agrees. "You gotta wonder where it all comes from, though. Like, is there a reason for this? Other than it being _genetic_ anyway. You ever wonder about that?"

"Not really," Delsin shrugs and turns to the last water tower. "So as long as it works, I'm all good."

Desmond says nothing to that, leaning against the tower Delsin just finished propping up, watching quietly, a thoughtful look on his face. Soon the last water tower has been supported, and now they have three things of concrete and metal and some other stuff sitting on their rooftop.

"There we go," Delsin says and then, almost reluctantly, glances at Desmond. "I became a Conduit completely by accident – touched a guy who was about to attack my brother, and copied his ability. It had no _reason_ – it just happened. I figure it just _happens_ for most people. You got the gene, something flips a switch and boom, suddenly you're superpowered."

"I guess," Desmond agrees and pushes away from the water tower, both of them heading for the stairs.

Delsin glances at him, thinking about what he'd heard the evening before – how the guy had been… cut open alive… "Listen, I, uh… about yesterday – are you okay?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah. It's – not great, but…" Desmond shrugs. "Me and my dad, we never had the best relationship anyway, and I was never really happy running with that group. It's a relief, really – and uh, you did say I'd be welcome here, if I decided to join you and stay, so…"

"Yeah, _yeah_ , for sure," Delsin agrees quickly. "Of course – I mean, stating the painfully obvious, you're kinda of a… huge asset to us, to any Conduit, really. And you already saved our asses, back in the city, so… yeah. Yeah, you're welcome."

Desmond smiles wryly at that. "Kinda hoping I have more to offer than just my power," he says. "I don't even know how to control the damn thing properly. But I'll take it. Better than being on a short leash for being a terrorist anyway."

"Yeah, about that, actually," Delsin says and hesitates, looking at him. "Your group – former group, whatever. I heard some stuff when you talked with your dad, and then there's the stuff you said before, but… who are they, what do they do? They got a name, or…?"

Desmond looks down, his smile growing slightly bitter, slightly nostalgic, as he thinks about it. "Yeah, they got a name," he says and sighs, looking around to make sure no one's near enough to hear. "The Assassin Brotherhood."

Delsin's brows arch at that. "… okay?" he says, slow.

"Yeah, I know, it sounds kinda… bad and comic-booky," Desmond murmurs, shaking his head, seeming almost embarrassed. "The Ancient Order of Assassin Brotherhood – what began as the Order of Hashashin, back in the time of the Crusades, in what's a modern day Syria. More than thousand years of killers thinking they can make the world a better place by assassinating bad people. And sometimes succeeding, but… mostly not. I was born into it, it's… a whole damn thing, really."

"Damn, okay," Delsin says, shaking his head. The only reason he thinks he buys is because the First Sons are a thing that probably still exists somewhere, and also who the hell would come up with this sort of stuff? It's too ridiculous not to be real. "I mean. We're literally superheroes," he says. "I don't know if I have the leg to stand on, criticizing something for being too comic-booky."

Desmond snorts at that, giving him a smile that's almost shy. "Well, there's that," he agrees and looks away. "The bigger, worse thing about the whole thing is the ancient enemy. Can't have an ancient order of killers without an ancient enemy, otherwise what's even the point?"

Delsin nods like that makes sense. "Of course, yeah, gotta have a conspiracy," he says. "And they are?"

"Templars – Abstergo," Desmond says and shrugs. "Secret world-dominating cabal of rich and wealthy and corrupt – you know how it goes."

"Yeeaah," Delsin agrees, stretching it out. "Sure. Okay."

Desmond glances at him and then smiles a little wider. "You don't believe me. I don't blame you. I didn't either," he says and then shrugs, shoving his hands into the pockets of his prison jumpsuit and looking away. "I guess it doesn't really matter. I don't think they'd come after me, at this point – I'm already mostly proven useless to them. I mean… unless they've started using Conduits for something. Which they might've."

"Uh-huh," Delsin says, frowning a little. "Wait, they were the ones who – um. There was a mention of _autopsy_ …?"

"Yeah," Desmond agrees and shrugs again. "When I got whammied with Solar, Abstergo picked me up, spent months trying to either turn me into a tool, into profit, or into a corpse, and when they failed at all three, they turned me over to DUP for… some deal they had."

"That's messed up, man, I'm sorry," Delsin says while running a hand over his mouth, thinking. If it was an official deal, then there might be a paper trail – one Eugene might be able to track, it might prove some of this. "You gotta have some mad healing speed, to survive. That's damn lucky."

Desmond sighs and looks up, at the cloudy sky, the sun just a barely visible glowing ball behind them. "Yeah, I'm not sure that's _luck,_ " he says and then shakes his head and looks away. "So, about that graffiti… can I see it now?"

Delsin considers him for a moment and then blows out a breath. Guess it got a bit grim, huh. "Yeah, sure," he says and turns to the stairs. "Come on, and prepare to feast your eyes on the splendour of my epic battle against Augustine – it was truly legendary."

Desmond grins, his face immediately brightening up. "Oh? Now _that's_ a tale I really wanna hear," he says and nudges Delsin with an elbow. "Do I get story time to go with the artwork?"

"I might be persuaded," Delsin admits with a smile, and together they head down.


	15. Chapter 15

Desmond is still kind of waiting for the other shoe to drop – but at the same time... not. It's like temporary vertigo, he's just waiting for something to happen, something to dot his is and cross his ts, to finalise the thing. He's an assassin no longer. Any moment now, it would feel real. Any moment now, he'd figure out who he'd be from here on out. Honestly, he should have it figured out now, anyway. Seven years should've been long enough.

But like most everything, it doesn't feel quite real, not yet. Who knows if it ever would. Somewhere in the back of his head the Assassins of the past would forever loom, and it would probably never stop feeling like, yeah, maybe he was letting their legacy down, maybe he wasn't living up to his bloody, murderous potential. But at the same time… he knows how all those stories ended up – or most of them. Very few were the Assassins who were happy in retirement – who could look back and feel perfectly content with their choices, their losses, their sacrifices…

"… doing more of them," Delsin is saying, and Desmond drags his mind back from the memories, back to the mural in front of him. "As high and mighty as it sounds," Delsin muses. "We should immortalise our stories, you know, our myths and stuff. One day this stuff will all be history, so…"

"Yeah," Desmond says, nodding. He gets it, totally, even if it brings up some old ghosts. "That's a great idea – bring some colour to the place too. Not that the grey isn't nice, it's fine, just… a little drab."

"Yeeaah, not much I can do to change the colour of concrete," Delsin says, snorting, running his hand down the part of his handiwork. "And this stuff eats up paint like a _glutton,_ too, so there is no way we can manage to get enough paint to touch up the faces. But a little bit of colour here and there, yeah."

Desmond nods, leaning back on the concrete block he's sitting on, taking in the mural again. It's pretty great – Delsin is no da Vinci, no one is, not that Desmond is exactly the guy to judge art anyway, but… it's good. It looks nice. Very… striking – and the message Delsin was trying to send was more than obvious. Many little guys with little sparks of light in their hands, against the goliath that was Brooke Augustine and the DUP…

"It was just you against her in the end, right? Why the crowd?" Desmond asks, curious.

Delsin shrugs. "Seemed right. 'Sides, I think most Conduits fought being captured. Most of them were innocent. And we are banding together now, so… yeah. Also, Fetch and Eugene definitely helped, wouldn't have been able to climb the tower without Fetch, and Eugene fed me blast cores through the fight, probably would've lost without them."

Eugene and Fetch were both depicted on the mural, too. Fetch a streak of light coursing through the crowd, Eugene the army of angels above it, protecting everyone. "It's nice," Desmond says honestly and smiles. "It's really nice. You should tell people it's here – I bet they'd love to see it."

Delsin scratches at his cheek, momentarily sheepish and then shrugs. "I guess I like it better when people discover these things on their own," he admits and sighs. "They've started putting up my stuff online, tagging them with gps coordinates and stuff – it just feels weird."

Desmond smiles at that, a little wider. The guy has a shy streak to him. "I'd love to see the other stuff," he says. "What else do you think you'll do a piece on?"

Delsin rolls his jaw, pursing his lips in thought. "I should probably do one on Cole MacGrath, huh?" he muses and then glances down as his phone starts ringing. With a sigh the guy shimmies it out of his jeans' pocket and peers at the screen. "Shit," he mutters and at Desmond's arched brows explains, "It's the Mayor's office."

"Should I clear off?" Desmond asks, moving to get up.

Delsin glances at him and then makes a face. "Actually," he says. "It might be like… management crap," he says, looking at the phone. "It's usually about how I am handling this Conduit situation and I wasn't exactly on top of it in the beginning. I, uh…"

"I can sit in and be quiet," Desmond offers. "Give you pointers if I have any."

Delsin nods, and without further ado picks up the call – throwing the phone immediately on the speaker. "Delsin Rowe, Conduit extraordinaire speaking from the waters of Elliott Bay, how may I help you?" he asks, and Desmond runs a hand over his face, hiding his reaction.

" _Mr. Rowe, I hope this isn't a bad time,_ " a female voice says, very primly.

"Not at all, Ms. Mayor, this is as good a time as any," Delsin says, coming to sit beside Desmond on the concrete block, holding the phone in front of them. "How can I help you this fine day?"

Laying it on a bit thick, Desmond thinks, and smiles.

" _I had been hoping to take up a few moments of your time,_ " the Mayor says. " _And apologise for not getting in touch these past couple of days, things have been hectic in the office – and I thought you too were busy with your building project. How is the, ah… what do you call the structure you made_?"

Delsin makes a face. "It hasn't exactly been named yet," he admits. "We just call it a building. Figure we will have a vote on the name sometime in the next couple of days, once we have basic amenities down."

Desmond leans back a little, frowning.

" _I see, I see. That's great – how are those basic amenities coming along_?"

"Pretty good – we almost have running water now," Delsin says and since he's obviously about to get into details, Desmond quickly shakes his head at him, mouthing, _don't._ Delsin arches his brows a little but rolls with it. "We're getting by," he says. "How are things on your end?"

" _We're clearing up some things, which were left… in disarray by the Department of Unified Protection, shall we say_ ," the Mayor says. " _The damage and the cost assessment will take months at the very least, but for now we have the ball rolling – and we have been considering the issue of the bridges._ "

Delsin glances at Desmond, who shrugs his shoulders – he hasn't enough info on the whole thing to really comment. "Thinking about taking us up on that pro-bono repair job?" Delsin asks.

" _It has been coming up in our meetings and sessions, and has gotten increasingly more support,_ " the Mayor agrees. " _We will have to have our engineers oversee the repair, of course, the bridges will need to be structurally sound, but…_ "

"Hmm," Delsin answers, noncommittal. "And my demands, did those come up in your meetings and sessions?"

"… _they did_ ," the Mayor agrees, hesitant. " _As things stand currently, Mr. Rowe, it might be a little too early to put up that kind of – of show. You must have noticed that the city is a little roused up at the moment – for you to hold the bridge repair as a public event_ –"

Desmond runs a hand over his face, smothering a laugh. So that's what Delsin meant with him wanting everyone to know who did the repair work. What did the guy want – to turn the bridge reconstruction into a rock concert?

"Well, in that case, I'm _sorry_ –" Delsin starts to say, throwing Desmond sideways glances.

" _However – however,_ " the Mayor quickly cuts in. " _We are willing to compromise with – with advertisement, with your own marketing. You can certainly let people know it's you doing the work, of course, but to hold it as an event would be unwise in the current climate_."

Delsin makes a face. " _Or_ it could be just the thing this city needs to release the tension," he says. "Get out there, make some noise, do some good stuff – let people know that unlike DUP, we aren't here to wreck things, that we got their backs. Give people something to celebrate for once. Also, how do you suppose we could do advertising? We barely have a roof over our heads, and even that _I_ had to build from Augustine's leftovers – where do you think we'd get money for _marketing_?"

Desmond gives the guy a surprised look at that. That was almost a loss of temper – obviously this argument has been going on for a while.

" _I – sympathise with your situation,_ " the Mayor says. " _I do, and I sympathise with your wishes as well, but – the need for those bridges is becoming dire. We need them fixed, and the sooner the better – is there no way we can compromise on this_?"

Delsin leans his head back, giving the ceiling a frustrated look, and Desmond nudges at his shoulder before leaning to whisper in his ear, "Ask her how much the repair estimate using conventional means is."

Delsin tenses a little at that, glancing at him and then looking at the phone. "Question, just out of curiosity," he says, bringing the phone a little closer. "How much would it cost to have the bridges fixed by your regular old repair people?" and then, a sly look coming to his face, "Maybe that could work as our _marketing_ budget. Hm?"

There's a very stilted silence and then a sigh. " _Very well, Mr. Rowe_ ," she says. " _We'll do this your way. You'll get your event – though the details need to be discussed at length, first. Including_ security."

Delsin blinks, looks at Desmond, then at the phone. "Great," he says, slightly higher pitched. "Can't wait."

The call ends not much after that, with Delsin and the Mayor figuring out a time for a meeting, and Delsin lowers the phone, looking at Desmond. "Huh," he says.

"Hit 'em where it hurts," Desmond shrugs. "And that's usually the budget. What kind of event are you thinking, anyway?"

"Just – some sort of thing where people can come and see Conduits working, safely," Delsin says. "Maybe ask questions, have Eugene and Fetch and maybe Lena and other light-aligned Conduits put up a light show. Something to show Conduits doing good for a change, something wonderful."

Desmond hums at that.

"You… think it's a bad idea?" Delsin asks, grimacing a little.

"No, I think you're on the right track, it would probably do a lot of good – but the Mayor is right too. It's just asking for trouble, with the protest going on and tensions high," Desmond muses. "But… if it works… it might be worth the trouble."

"Yeah, I thought so," Delsin says, looking at the phone. "And I mean – security we can do."

"Can't bring back the dead if it turns into a riot," Desmond comments, playing the devil's advocate.

"Can heal people if they get hurt, though," Delsin says in answer. "From what I figure, every Conduit can, with a bit of training."

"Hmm," Desmond answers, running a hand over his chin, resisting the urge to scratch at it. They can? Huh. "Cool. Yeah, it could work. You are going to need one hell of a plan, though."

 _"We_ need a plan – you're coming too," Delsin says and hops to stand. "We're going to need you to power us up so that we can actually do the thing – those bridges are hundreds of yards long."

Desmond looks up at him. "You offered to build the bridges before you knew about that, though," he points out.

"Yeah, but back then I figured I'd do them alone, over days, maybe weeks," Delsin shrugs and grins. "With you, we might be able to get it done in a day."

"… no pressure, huh," Desmond says with a snort and stands up. "Well, I'm glad to be good for at least one thing."

"Hey, you got me the event – you're good for at least _two_ things," Delsin says, looks at him, and then clears his throat. "You can do it – you _will_ do it, right? Please say you will, otherwise this will be so much less epic than it is in my head."

"Yeah, yeah, of course," Desmond says and pushes his hands into his pockets. "Going to have to try and practice the thing a bit, and I'll probably need a few days to charge up if it stays cloudy, though. Maybe shouldn't have wasted all the sun yesterday…"

Delsin hums in agreement and then grins. "It was so cool, though, wasn't it?" he says and sighs almost wistfully. "I've never flown that far before, it was _awesome_."

It was. Kind of terrifying too, going at that speed, that high, with only Delsin's weirdly flimsy no-mass self holding him up, but awesome. "Yeah," Desmond agrees with a grin. "It was definitely something. So when you think this bridge thing will happen, anyway?"

Delsin shrugs. "No idea, guess that's what the meeting will be about," he says and then gives Desmond a slightly apologetic look. "Don't think I can bring you to ride along on that one, sorry."

"Yeah, no, I get it. Still a semi-famous terrorist here, I understand," Desmond snorts. "Just lemme know when you know, and I'll try to be ready."

* * *

While Delsin heads off to prepare for his meeting with Eugene and Fetch, or whatever it is that he does, Desmond tries to figure out something to do. He _should_ probably head up to the rooftop or one of the balconies to soak up what sun he can, but it's kind of starting to feel like loitering at this point, and since he's now thrown his lot _officially_ with the Conduits, he should probably be contributing.

There aren't that many jobs to go around, though. Delsin already vetoed him taking part in the watch rotation, which honestly was something of a shame. It would've been a _perfect_ job for Solar charging. Other than that, there's the construction jobs Desmond would be useless at, he doesn't know squat about engineering – not from this century, anyway… and literally every service job they have has been taken. The supply station Soraya set up is kind of over-staffed even.

"We still have DUP uniforms left, if you want to change out of that," she says, casting a look at Desmond's still mostly orange getup. "With the logos ripped off, the trousers look almost normal."

"The skin of our enemy, huh?" Desmond asks. "I don't know, the orange is kinda growing on me."

"It's a _disgrace,_ " she says. "What's your size?"

So he gets black combat trousers to go with his t-shirt and combat boots. It is a little more comfortable than the prison jumpsuit, he supposes. It's also what most everyone in the building is wearing now, though they'd done what they could to customise and make their clothes a little less military. They still look very samey and uniform – and the fact that they're all stuck in what amounts to a concrete bunker with a pit of a mezzanine in it…

There's a group of people not far from the supply station, who are just sitting there, looking mostly depressed. "This place needs some colour," Desmond murmurs, looking up at their dome skylight. "And some _light_. Hey, Soraya, you can do mirrors, right?"

She glances at the mirrors she'd added to the service station booth, which let her see around the corners. " _Yeah,_ " she says, a little defensive. "What about it?"

"Think you could do big ones, up there?" Desmond asks, motioning to the top edge of the mezzanine. "And maybe that central pillar too? And other places?"

Soraya blinks and looks up and around. "Um – I don't know, I can't do them out of nothing that well –"

"I could power you up," Desmond says and folds his arms. "The concrete here eats up all the light, but if we got some mirrors in a few places – not like perfectly _reflective_ mirrors, but ones that refracted the light all around, that would brighten the space a lot without having to add lamps. Could be nice."

Soraya gives him a look and then steps out of the booth, to look around. "Huh," she says and tilts her head. "Yeah, maybe. I could definitely try. "

"Great," Desmond says, grinning. "Also, do you know where that plant guy is – Jim-Jime, something?"

"Jimeno, I think I saw him on the second level, with the kids?" she answers. "Why?"

"This place _desperately_ needs some greenery," Desmond shrugs and looks around. "I got to practice the whole power transfer thing, try and get some control over it, and I might as well do some good stuff while I'm at it. You know any other Conduits who could pitch in to brighten this place up, add a little colour and light to the place?"

Soraya looks at him and then runs a hand over her chin. "Yeah – yeah, I know a few," she says. "There's Eshter, she can do plastic – it usually comes out white, could use it to add accents to the grey. Nisha can do fibres, but she doesn't have much control over it – maybe if you powered her up it could go somewhere. Oh, and Petrov can do ceramics, but again, not much practice, so the best he can do is reshaping stuff on his own – and then there's Daniel, the guy who did the dome. He could maybe add some glass decorations."

"Huh," Desmond says. That's a lot more useful stuff than he realised – but then, it makes sense. If Delsin has concrete, then there's gotta be other material powers out there too. "Okay, that sounds great. Let's get everyone together and see if they'll be interested in doing some arts and crafts. Make this place a little nicer."

"Yeah," Soraya agrees and glances at him. "Does, uh… does Rowe know about this?"

Desmond arches his brows at her, at her tone of voice. "Let's call it a surprise," he says and smiles. "Delsin's heading out on a big meeting that's probably going to change things for the better for us – I wanna surprise him with something nice when he comes back."

"Oh?" Soraya asks, narrowing her eyes, considering. " _Surprise_ , huh?"

"I'm sure he won't mind, and if he does, then it's on me, I take full responsibility," Desmond says, patting her shoulder. "So, I'm gonna go see if Jimeno is interested in doing some planting, you go see if you can find any of the others, we figure if we can do this thing, alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure," she agrees, still looking at him sideways and then shaking her head and heading back to the booth, calling for someone to take her spot.

Desmond heads down along the mezzanine, looking up at the dome as he goes, wondering if he could maybe convince Soraya to add some mirrors on the roof – all aimed on one spot. Might be a bit dangerous if there was nothing there to soak it up, but when there was, well… it might be a lovely place for a nap.


	16. Chapter 16

Two weeks, is what they agree on. Two weeks to arrange everything, for the engineers to make up their plans, for things to settle down a little, for Delsin to train up the Metal Conduits and others to do the work, and then, hopefully… they'd do the thing. A three day event, a long weekend, to rebuild the bridges – one bridge a day, with assorted… revelries to go with it.

That was actually the word the mayor used, _revelries._ Funny, how much exasperation you could put into a word.

Well, it's no problem. The building material is still all there, after all, in the waves – they could pull it up, reform it, so that's no problem. Security at the building site wasn't exactly a problem either, not really – few were the people who could get in the way out there, over the open water – and the coast guard would be taking care of ships. It is the shorelines that would be an issue, but maybe not?

"I'm thinking, temporary platforms for the audience and the actual party, whatever it's going to be," Delsin says, pointing out a map on his phone. "I can knock those off ahead of time – give people safe and secure places to watch the show from."

"Probably a smart idea, yeah," Fetch says, running a hand over her neck. "How many people do you think will show up?"

"Let's err on the side of a _lot,_ " Delsin snorts.

"That's going to be difficult to manage, security wise," Eugene murmurs. "If something goes wrong, if there is unrest…"

"We can handle it, right?" Delsin says. "Your angels can cover a lot of ground."

"Not enough to cover a crowd of tens of thousands," Eugene says with a shake of his head. "And what do we do if people start rioting like the Mayor thinks they will?"

"Put them on the ground, restrain them," Delsin shrugs.

"And _then what_?" Eugene asks, making a face. "Leave them on the ground where they might be trampled by other people?"

Delsin makes a face at that. "Okay, we'll put up some sort of holding area for people to cool down – or take them to jail, alright? We'll figure it out."

"Holding area, huh?" Fetch asks, giving him a look. "Like DUP holding pens?"

"What – _no_ ," Delsin says and then shakes his head. "Listen, I know we have a _lot_ to figure out, but there's two weeks. It's not a lot of time, but it's some time – we can work something out. Get other Conduits together, see if they have any ideas." He'd talk to Desmond about it, too. The guy would probably have something to say, he usually did. "We're not going to get anywhere if we start all doom and gloom, alright? It's going to be a party, and it's going to be great, we're going to make it great."

"This is such a bad idea," Eugene says.

"Shut up, it's a great idea. It just needs some work," Delsin says and looks at Fetch. "You good to cover the actual show, get together some or our flashier Conduits, see what they think about putting up a display of _harmless_ but showy powers?"

"Yeah, I think I can cover it," Fetch says and leans back. "Three shows, right? I can figure something out."

"Uh, actually maybe six?" Delsin suggests. "Or five. One for each end of the two bridges between islands, and then the 520."

Fetch blows out a breath. "Yeah, okay, sure. Five shows. Great, no problem."

"Great, awesome, knew I could count on you. Eugene –"

"I'm on security, right?" Eugene asks with a sigh.

"I mean," Delsin says, coughing. "I can maybe get someone else on it, if you don't want to, but you… are kind of the best man for the job. You got your own army, after all."

Eugene shakes his head. "Alright, alright. Guess we should all play by our strengths, and… you're right about this meaning a lot to Conduits."

"That's a good man," Delsin says, nodding. "And I'll handle the construction, maybe give a speech or something at the start. We all good to go?"

"I guess so," Eugene sighs. "It just seems like a lot all of a sudden."

"Hey, Curdun Cay Station was a lot. At least this time it's something nice," Delsin says. "It's going to be great, you'll see."

-

They aren't the only ones who have been busy. While Delsin, Fetch and Eugene were negotiating the event – and shouldering the responsibility for the raided DUP warehouses – the people of the compound have been working on the compound.

They have a little bit of power now, and running water – the wiring and the pipe works were finished, and now they have some lights and actual showers, they had fountains people could drink from – they even have the makings of toilets. Turns out there was a Ceramic Conduit in their midst that with some testing and trying had worked out how to make sinks and rudimentary toilets. He hadn't done it alone though – and honesty, while the toilets were pretty neat, they are the least of what had been done.

The whole mezzanine of the building has been transformed – it's still in the process of transformation, actually. There's more light, there are reflective mirrors here and there on top of the concrete surfaces, there are white panels here and there, some of them pretty artistic looking… and there are people working on flower pots made of various materials, ceramic, glass, plastic – and the pots have actual plants in them, which people are putting up along the mezzanine balconies.

And at the centre there is Desmond, sitting on top of the central pillar, with five Solar Flares arching out of him, and a whole array of curved mirrors aiming light from above at him.

"I see you've been busy," Delsin comments, using concrete to fly up to him.

Desmond opens his eyes, and his irises glow like golden cinders. "Oh, you're back already," he says. "Man, I wanted to show you this. Surprise, we got into interior decorating."

"I can see that," Delsin says, landing on the pillar next to him and shaking the concrete dust from his fingers. Then he looks around, taking the mezzanine in full.

It's still work in progress, that's obvious. There are people still putting up panels and mirrors, and there's one group that is putting up some sort of cloth banner – where did they even get that? Near the bottom there's the biggest activity, centred around three Conduits Desmond is powering up – one of them is making the flower pots, other is filling them with dirt, and third is using his powers to get plants to burst out of the soil.

"Huh," Delsin says, watching the progress of one plant as someone carries it off, to eventual home at the corner of a balcony where it joins two others. Then he looks at Desmond, who's just sitting there, working as a battery.

"Figuring out the power flow a little," Desmond says and motions to the mirrors just under the ceiling dome. "Soraya made those for me – they're concentrating the light coming from the top at me. It's not much, but it's enough that I can soak it up, and send it to others."

"That… is honestly pretty cool," Delsin says, looking up at the curved mirrors and then back down on the mezzanine. "You figured this stuff fast, huh? Why the decorating?"

"Well, I had seven years to contemplate how it all worked. It's just a matter of putting it to practice," Desmond says. "I wanted to train, and I thought we could make this place a little nicer, a little homelier, while I was at it. And we got showers now, other than the DUP travel showers."

"That is admittedly pretty nice," Delsin admits, folding his arms. "A little more of this and this place will look like a whole new building, huh?"

"Yeah," Desmond agrees and then hums with obvious pleasure as suddenly the light around him intensifies – sun is peeking through the clouds. "Hope you don't mind. It was honestly a bit depressing before."

"No I don't mind, this is cool as heck," Delsin says and then sits on the edge of the pillar, to check out everyone Desmond is powering. The Plant guy, the Soil lady, the Ceramic guy, who else… oh, Fabric person, that explains the banner, cool. And the last one is the Plastic girl. "How long can you keep this up?" Delsin asks curiously.

"Until sundown, I think," Desmond says and yawns. "It is a bit tiring, though, and I'm not getting that much power from the sun. But as long as there's light, I can manage a little."

Yeah, he's definitely figured out how to give people _less_ – the people at the receiving ends of his Solar Flares are obviously experiencing some power and ability boost, but they're not completely overwhelmed by it. Just a little better, a little bit more capable. It has to be helping them figure out new things they can do with their powers too, little like Blast Shards and Core Relays did with Delsin – a lot of the stuff Delsin's seeing, he's pretty sure these guys didn't know how to do before.

Seriously, Delsin is _so glad_ Desmond never sided with Augustine.

"So how did the meeting go?" Desmond asks, stretching a little.

"It went. We got called out on the DUP warehouse raids, but no one is going to force us to pay for it – they just sort of told us to maybe stop please," Delsin snorts. "Which we won't. There was some talk of property damage and other cost stuff, what we were going to do about reimbursing the businesses we'd damaged one way or the other – but in the end, the thing we will do for the bridges, if it works, will cover it. We got two weeks until the event."

Desmond hums, settling down into lotus position. "That's not a lot of time."

"It's doable," Delsin says firmly. "It'll have to be."

"Alright," Desmond says and closes his eyes. "Do we have a plan?"

Delsin tells him what they've planned so far, watching as Fetch flashes through the mezzanine, approaching a couple of Conduits – one who was helping others put up a banner, another who was carrying a flower pot. The static girl, Lena, is one of them, and the other Delsin thinks can do fire. Desmond says nothing for a moment, considering the plans while keeping up with the power transfer.

"You got anything to comment on?" Delsin asks, half worried and half hoping he does.

"Is there going to be an announcement about the event, or are you just going to hold it outta the blue?" Desmond asks. "There might be people who want to take part in it. Musicians, artists, store keepers – stalls to sell food and stuff."

Delsin grimaces. "Yeah, sure – but that'll just complicate things, wouldn't it?" Every addition would be an added security concern, really. "We don't really have the money to invite anyone anyway, it's all pretty much pro-bono."

"It would also tie it back to the community," Desmond shrugs and looks at him. "It's just a suggestion, but adding stuff like local businesses can help make these kinds of things seem like something you're doing _for_ the people rather than… at them."

Running a hand over his neck, Delsin blows a breath. He's not wrong. "That's going to be _so much_ extra work, and I'm already probably going to be busy with training, and the engineers, and getting the metal guys up to speed."

"Then delegate," Desmond says with a shrug and looks at the mezzanine, at the people working in it. "Look through the people we have here, what their backgrounds are, what they did for a living, and find some with usable experience and ask if they'd like to take part. They probably will."

"There's that," Delsin muses, glancing down at all the work that had already been done. Then he looks at Desmond, narrowing his eyes. "And then there's _you_."

"Schism," Desmond says, pointed.

"Psh," Delsin says dismissively and waves a hand. "You're supposed to be working for me, right? If I put you in charge of – of party arrangements, you'll be answering to me. I'll be like… an authority over you. I bet you can make it work."

Desmond looks at him and then hums. "Maybe," he agrees dubiously. "Still a known terrorist here, though."

"And you're doing community service," Delsin says, grinning. "Just stay on your best behaviour, maybe don't make any public statements, and I'm sure it'll be fine."

The look Desmond gives him at that is half exasperated and half something Delsin's probably imagining looks _fond_. Clearing his throat, Delsin hops to his feet, looking away. "Anyway, I've got plans to make and Metal Conduits to talk to – think it over, okay? If you figure out a better solution, then I'm all ears. Right now, though, I think you might be the best choice."

"I worry about you, man. You trust too easily," Desmond sighs. "But alright, I'll think about it."

* * *

In the following days, their home almost completely transforms. It's not just the mezzanine, though it definitely goes through the biggest change – elsewhere, things change a bit too. Some of the concrete walls are covered by either new, lighter panels, by ceramic tiles, by mirrors, by fabric curtains where suitable, or just by plants, which are slowly taking up more and more space in the place, and which everyone agrees they can't have too much of.

Delsin pitches in too, where he can, making concrete ditches for planting where people can just dump soil and do whatever they want. They even reroute some of the water piping for a watering system, and rainwater harvesting is set up to keep all the plants watered. Jimeno, the guy who can manipulate plants, can even grow food, if he has the seeds, soil and water to work with. Before the second day of internal decoration is over, they have _fruit trees_ growing in the mezzanine. It's pretty cool.

Delsin wishes he could do more for it, but he's busy with the reconstruction project. They get their first non-Conduit visitors on the island because of it, flown in by helicopters – three engineers, with massive briefcases full of designs and blueprints and material samples. They're all of them terrified as Delsin welcomes them on the rooftop, giving the water towers and mirror arrays wide looks.

"Welcome to the… we still haven't named the place, but welcome," Delsin says, trying to ignore the slight looks of disapproval his construction is getting. "Come right this way, I've made a meeting room for us."

"You – made – "

"Well, yes. We didn't really have one before, didn't need it – it's not a long way, I set it up on the seventh floor."

The looks the engineer guys give to the mezzanine are a little more flattering – they look sincerely surprised that it's _nice_. Delsin is happy to point out that it was the co-operation of several Conduits working together, and that it's probably the least they can do, really.

"A lot of these Conduits are flexing their powers for the first time in their lives," he says. "And every Conduit is different. I'm sure they will get better with little more time and practice."

It doesn't seem to soothe their nerves much, but the engineers do agree that it's all pretty cool, which is something. They seem mostly surprised that the Conduits aren't living like savages and just fighting each other like in some huge thunderdome, though, even commenting about "How calm everyone seems," but Delsin ignores that. People still have the dumbest misconceptions, there's not much he can do about them now.

They head to the meeting room, where their three Metal Conduits wait, nervous, along with Radomír, whose shapeshifting isn't particularly useful with the actual construction, but whose expertise is invaluable. None of them look particularly well prepared, compared to the three engineers with their hard hats and briefcases full of stuff.

"So," Delsin says, clapping his hands. "This is awkward, so let's make this nice and easy. I'm Delsin, I can do Smoke, Neon, Video, Concrete, and recently Radiation. This is Miriam, she can do molten metal – mainly ferrous metals, right?"

"That's right," she says tensely. "Everything with iron in it."

"Right," Delsin says. "And this is Mike, he can do most metals, but is best with lead, right? And last we got Finley, he's got what we figure are electrically conductive Metals, copper, silver, aluminium, so on, the more conductive the better?"

"Mm-hmm," he agrees, looking awkward. "Haven't gotten the chance to test it out on all metals, but… yeah, sounds pretty much right."

"We just call them the Metal Conduits, because it's easier," Delsin explains to three engineers, who are looking very thoughtful now. "Between the four of us – with the help of Radomír over here, he's our best engineering guy – we built this place, and lately added water pipes and electricity to the building."

"And you used the concrete and metal from the DUP structures to do it – we all saw the footage," one of the engineers comments. "You can just – transform the state of these materials without having to _change_ their state – reforming solid dry concrete, cold metal?"

"Miriam here melts metal a bit when she works on it, that's why it's molten metal for her," Delsin says. "But for the rest of us, yeah."

"There is a small temperature shift when a metal is reformed by a Conduit," Radomír explains. "But it's almost negligible, and the end result seems to be either as strong, or stronger, depending on how the Conduit reshapes it. Material Conduits like us have the means to _condense_ the things we reshape, as well as stretch them out."

"That is _very_ interesting," the engineer murmurs, running a hand over his mouth. "Maybe we can do this, after all," he then says and begins taking out the designs. "Right then. We brought the original blueprints over, along with the designs and the materials used – shall we go over them?"

"Yeah," Delsin says and blows out a breath. "Let's get to it."

It's going to be a lot of work, and looks like a lot of _studying_ too. It wouldn't be enough to just entwine some concrete with metal and call it a day – the bridges had to be _precisely_ engineered, and that meant they had to know how to do that, how to make the separate parts, how to put them together. It would probably end up being a lot less impressive than Delsin hoped – no lifting piles of rubble from the water and just miraculously reshaping them in midair, after all. But if the end result was safe and secure… he could sacrifice some of the pizzazz.

It's the first proper big co-operation between Conduits and non-Conduits of Seattle. Better make it a good one.


	17. Chapter 17

The funny thing is, the whole event organisation, it… really didn't seem like the sort of work Desmond would really enjoy, never mind being up to it. Sure, he had some management experience from various ancestors, they had the tendency of ending up as community leaders, but… event organisation. Not really something assassins prepared him for.

And yet, he's kind of loving it. 

He's gotten Soraya, Roselyn and Jack from the Pit to manage the thing with him. Soraya, though she doesn't have actual experience with managing things, has that personality, the _get shit done_ personality, which means she will learn as she goes, and she's not afraid of making and learning from her mistakes. Roselyn is a teacher, not a perfect match for event organisator, but she's got some experience in organising things – class events, school trips, stuff like that. That's something. And Jack, though a bitter man at heart, used to run a sort of self-help AAA group stuff before his imprisonment – a guy who used to believe in the system, and who knew the system, and who, ultimately, took it really personally when the system failed him.

Between them, they'd figured out a shopping list to start with, which they'd then proceeded to fill out from DUP stores. Namely, laptops with internet access, phones, ways to get in touch with the outside world – and then the leeway to actually get in touch with the outside world, through all the satellite communication dishes Eugene had added to the place.

"Should we ask…?" Soraya asks, when they dug around the few crates they hadn't yet cracked open. "I mean – they've been keeping us in a sort of information lock down, I figured that was on purpose." She doesn't sound too happy about it either.

"Don't credit malice for what can be answered by incompetence," Desmond answers, a little guiltily for throwing Delsin under the bus like that, but honestly… "Delsin and the others aren't cutting us off from the outside world because they're being mean – they just got a lot on their plates and haven't had the chance to cover all their bases."

"That's where you come in, huh?" Jack asks, frowning and picking one of the DUP-issued phones and turning it in his hand.

"I do what I can," Desmond agrees, and then they get to it.

Calling local newspapers was the first thing, and boy, it was a _ride_. Delsin had so far been their only contact with the Free Conduits, and the news media is ravenous for a scoop, any kind of scoop. Any kind of word concerning the Conduits in the Elliott bay. Sensing an opportunity there, Desmond forbade anyone from answering any questions, just told them to advertise the bridge-building event. Which, of course, means they need a spiel to give out, for people to make advertisements with.

"Honestly, we need social media strategy, too," Soraya mutters. "Someone on twitter, facebook, instagram… someone to document stuff here, and to be a public face, something people can access."

"Think you can find someone willing to take that kind job?" Desmond asks. "Might as well get that ball rolling while we're at it."

Soraya hums. "I'll ask around," she agrees – and less than two hours later, Hyeon the Mental Conduit joins their team. His experience is even less than that of Soraya, officially – unofficially, he was some kind of fandom guy, used to running various social media accounts concerning bands and whatnot, he'd even done some kind of fan events – small ones, but he knows how the websites work better than the rest of them.

Hyeon is the one who dubs the bridge building thing as Con-Con-Con. Conduit Construction Convention. "It's just bad enough that I bet it's going to stick," he says distractedly before wandering off with his brand new phone and tablet. The first post on all of the Official Conduit social media accounts are pictures of Delsin's mural from the front hall. Desmond feels a _tiny_ bit bad about it, but not enough to regret it.

Their thing doesn't quite make the front pages the following day – but it makes the news anyway. " _Rumour has it that the Conduits of Seattle are coming out of their shell in the Elliott Bay – our sources in the Conduit Compound tell us that there is an event in the works to repair Seattle's bridges and bring a little bit of freedom back to the people of Seattle after the DUP's less than genteel occupation_."

They even have a reporter guy at the site on the shoreline, talking to the camera excitedly with the backdrop of the protests and the building behind it. The guy details a bit about how the protests had been going, how they were starting to peter off as people realised they weren't getting anywhere, it's even a bit positive until he finishes with, "… _as to the planned construction event, time will tell if it will soothe roused tempers, or just give the protests here new fuel for the flames._ "

"Man, you don't waste any time, huh?"

Desmond stops the player and looks up from his laptop to see Fetch floating over to him from the ceiling, where her passing has drawn a purple streak up the wall and halfway up the dome. "Hey," he says, making room for her on the top of the central pillar.

"You're going to get the whole city roused up again – you know those protests were just about calm down?"

Desmond shrugs. "Delsin wants a publicity event, it needs some publicity beforehand too," he says, unapologetic. "And so as long as he doesn't tell me otherwise, I'm going to make it happen."

"Hey, I'm not criticising," Fetch says, crouching down beside him, balancing on the balls of her feet just on the very edge of the pillar. "Couple of days, and we've already gotten better, nicer press than Delsin and I ever got before. I'm just wondering _why_."

Desmond shakes his head, confused. "Why what?"

She shrugs. "Just why."

Frowning a little at that, Desmond looks down at the laptop. "Seems like the thing to do, I guess. And Delsin asked me to," he says and leans back a little. "It's not exactly my area of expertise, but… I'm good at finding the right people for the job."

"Uhhuh," Fetch says, watching him, tilting her head a little. "I guess it's all about who you know, even in the terrorism world."

Desmond snorts. "Rude," he says. "Is there something I can do for you, Fetch?"

She shrugs. "Just thought I should drop by, that we should coordinate. My guys and your guys – we're the ones who will be putting up the light show, you know. Gotta know what you're marketing, right?"

"That's… true, yeah," Desmond agrees and closes the laptop. "Alright, what do you guys have planned?"

What they have planned is basically a juiced up fireworks display, except all Conduit powers. Her Neon, Lena's Static and Mac's Fire. They don't have an exact program thought up, but they figure they'll just throw their showier stuff up in the air and see where that got them. "Figure Delsin can make us a platform out in the water, away from people, so that we can do this shit safely," Fetch muses.

"I bet he can," Desmond muses, running a hand over his chin, scratching at it. The stubble is coming back already. "We might need more of a plan than that. Not knowing how flashy Delsin's work is going to get, you three might end up as the stars of the show. No pressure."

Fetch makes a face. "I was afraid of that," she mutters. "What do you have in mind?"

"Either one big shocker of a thing, maybe an hour long… or a sequence of small ones spaced out, fifteen, twenty minutes each," Desmond says and looks down at the closed laptop. "I am hoping to get some local musicians to take interest in this thing, so maybe we can have some regular old entertainment in between more flashy stuff."

Fetch blows out a breath and nods. "Alright, I'll talk with the others, see what we can figure out."

"Get in touch with Hyeon – he's the guy with the undercut and the piercings," Desmond says. "He can take some pictures of you working out and throw them up on our social medias for advertisement."

"We have _social medias_ now?" Fetch asks, incredulously.

"Yep, we even got verified," Desmond agrees with a grin. "Hyeon runs the accounts – and from what I heard, he's not half bad at it."

"Right, okay. I'll find the guy and have him play paparazzi," Fetch says and sits down on the edge of the pillar. "Now more important matters – you straight?"

"…a bit forward." Desmond comments, opening his laptop again. "And not entirely important."

"Not straight then," Fetch concludes, leaning back and swinging her feet with definite air of victory. "Bi?"

"Mm," Desmond says, shaking his head and shooting Hyeon a message, asking him if he could make posters.

"Come on, dude, you can't be that busy – all you do is sit up here, soaking up the sun," Fetch says, nudging his knee with a hand. "I'm making small talk here, and this is all important information. It's bi, right, you swing both ways?"

Desmond smiles. "Why, you interested?" he asks.

"I could take you for a ride," Fetch agrees, grinning, and Desmond glances at her. "What, you think I wouldn't?"

"Figured something about being a semi-wanted terrorist might be a bit of a turn off, honestly," Desmond comments, shaking his head. It's not like he hadn't noticed the looks, though. Apparently a lot of people thought long hair fit him better than he did. "Not sure this is exactly the time, anyway."

"Hey, there's still almost two weeks left, and even you gotta take a break sometimes," Fetch says. "We didn't free you guys to work you like dogs, you know – it's been rough going, but the whole point was to give you guys freedom. And that tends to come with actual free time to, you know… do what you want…"

Desmond shakes his head. "Well, it's appreciated," he comments.

Fetch pouts. "You don't wanna take me for a ride?" she asks. "It could be fun. I promise I'll still respect you in the morning."

"Not really my thing, sorry," Desmond says and gives her a smile. "Though I'm sure it would be a lovely time, I'm not really into _casual_ fun."

"Oh, you're a _romantic_. I can dig it," Fetch nods and then sighs. "Well, I had to ask. Anyone caught your romantic eye then? Form any special connections?"

"I don't know – have you hooked up casually with anyone?" Desmond asks, and Fetch grins in a way which says that, oh yeah, she definitely has. "Good for you," Desmond snorts, shaking his head. "Can't say I have had the time to think about it. Doesn't seem exactly top on the list of priorities, hooking up with anyone."

"It's the spice of life, my dude," Fetch says. "Seriously, no one? You haven't noticed anyone checking you out, nothing?"

Desmond glances at her. "Aren't there more important things going on?"

"More important things shouldn't stop us from having actual _lives_ ," Fetch points out. "Isn't that the whole point of this? All this work so that we can live normally _one day_. Well, who says one day can't be now?"

Well, when she puts it that way. Desmond looks away, at the mezzanine with its little clusters of greenery, still spreading slowly. Bringing a piece of the outside inside, because outside is still a bit dangerous for all of them. There is a small little _café_ sort of area growing near the supply station, where people wandered to enjoy their meals and to have a coffee and chat. Someone had set up some speakers there, which are playing a bit of music, and while it isn't exactly normalcy… it is an attempt of it.

The mood of the Compound isn't so restless anymore, isn't so let down. They are settling. With the event to look forward to – some with excitement and some with trepidation – people are coming out of their shells a little. Desmond had even spotted one couple of elderly Conduits, dancing to an old song by the café area, and it had been nice, just nice.

"Yeah, who's to say," Desmond says and turns back to the laptop.

"So, no one caught your eye?" Fetch asks, nudging at him. "No one at all? Hm? Because I know someone whose eye _you've_ caught… you wanna know who?"

Desmond glances at her and then looks down at his laptop. "Nope."

"What, not even a little bit?" Fetch asks. "Could be an epic romantic bond about to happen. You never know. Might be someone special. You suure you don't wanna know?"

"Yep."

"Psh, you're no fun," Fetch sighs and flashes away in a burst of purple light. Desmond glances after her and with a smile and a laugh gets back to work.

* * *

Delsin and the Metal Conduits spend most of the days practicing, either out on the rooftop, or on a specially made platform they added to the front of the compound. Together they're making various rebar-reinforced blocks of concrete, fitting them together like puzzle pieces, under the supervision of the non-Conduit engineers, who are talking them through the actual construction of the bridge.

It's something of a spectacle, at first – makes the news, and people come to watch with binoculars and stuff. But after a few days of the exact same thing, people start losing interest – and getting more interested in the actual upcoming events.

Turns out the business of the Conduits makes for such interesting news that they don't even have to pay for the ad space – the moment they have a date, some good pictures, and Hyeon has had the time to make some posters, the ads go out in newspapers, and a couple even show up in television. The Con-Con-Con – a title, which is getting as much approval as derision – becomes the most anticipated thing of the year.

And they, eventually, get enquiries from local artists and small businesses asking if there happened to be space for booths at the party.

"As much as I hate the idea of _working for exposure_ …" Hyeon mutters. "It will be one hell of publicity, won't it? We've already made national news a few times."

"We need to push the charity thing a little more," Soraya complains. "So that people don't think we'll be taking advantage of these people. No one will profit from this, especially not us."

"Well, the sales booths might, if we get any," Desmond muses and glances around the table. "How are things going on your end, Roselyn?" she's handling most of their official correspondence, both with traditional news media, and with the government.

"I think we have managed to get our message across well enough," she says. "The Mayor will open the event with a short speech about cooperation, followed by Delsin's speech – which still needs to be written. We're still talking about further speeches, and potential press events, with both Delsin and the Mayor on the stage. But yes, more on the charity aspect wouldn't hurt."

"We should start preparing the grounds," Jack adds, frowning at his phone. "Rowe said they were thinking about adding platforms? We're going to need more than that. Tables, chairs, the actual stage, ramps for accessibility… the sooner we have them, the sooner we can start working on what goes where."

"And it will help the locals to get used to the idea of the event happening," Roselyn adds. "And if there will be vandalism, it will be easier to deal with now."

And it would let Desmond figure out the weak points and cover them up. "Right," he says. "I'll talk to Delsin about it, see how soon we can start."

Which he does directly after the meeting, heading out to find Delsin – and finding him, eventually, in the middle of spray painting. He's doing another big wall piece on one of the lower level corridors – a piece even bigger than the one in the entrance hall.

"Rough day?" Desmond asks, folding his arms and leaning onto a pillar, while Delsin puts slashes of bright blue on the wall. He's already painted buildings, forests, water – and a whole lot of destruction – on the wall.

"There's only so much concrete you can throw up before it comes out of every pore, man," Delsin sighs, jumping back lightly and shaking the can he's holding while eyeing the wall. "I needed a freaking break. What do you think?"

"Is this the piece on Cole MacGrath?" Desmond asks. It looks like one side of it is dedicated to New Marais.

"Yeah," Delsin agrees and waves his hand from one end to the other. "Gonna do the whole story here – Empire City to New Marais."

"Well, it already looks great," Desmond says, smiling. "Can't wait to see it finished."

Delsin throws him a grin and then adds a bit more blue on the wall, before going to switch cans. "I hear you and your team have been getting up to some stuff? We've been on the news a lot."

"Yeah, you know. Publicity," Desmond says. "That was the idea, right? We've gotten some offers from bands and a couple of stores that want to sell their wares – and a few restaurants, who want to put up fast food stuff. Mostly Chinese."

"Nice, gotta love Chinese food," Delsin sighs. "Fuck, man, I can't even remember the last time I had Chinese food. Now I'm hungry. Except not really."

"Well, I bet they'll let you eat free at the event," Desmond says with a grin. "You are the big star, after all."

"Yeah," Delsin agrees and sighs again. "You wouldn't think it would be this much work, you know? But I guess it makes sense that it is. Still, gotta know when to take a mental health break."

Desmond hums at that, not saying anything while watching Delsin add more colour to the wall, layering red and orange and yellow onto what Desmond suspects will have something to do with the Beast. Delsin seems to be winding down as he works, his shoulders loosening and his body language becoming lighter. It's really working as stress relief for the guy, huh?

Leaning his head against the pillar, Desmond sighs. The sun's gone down, and he's getting lethargic again, even with all the light stored up under his skin. "Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I kinda need you to do some more concrete for us," he says. "The actual show grounds, where the event is going to take place – the sooner they get laid down, the better."

Delsin glances his way. "You're already working to set things up?"

"Not yet, but there's stuff we gotta figure out beforehand, and having the actual grounds prepared would be a big help," Desmond shrugs. "You were thinking platforms, right? Over the water?"

"Yeah, something like it – extending the area so that people will have enough space to view the construction," Delsin agrees and shakes another can idly. "I think I can take a part of tomorrow off, and we can go and check it out."

"We already have the Mayor's approval, if you're worried," Desmond offers. "Though she wants to be sure that the extensions can be removed afterwards if necessary."

"Shouldn't be a problem," Delsin says and puts a little purple into the red, making it somehow seem much more violent. "This shit is going to be so epic," he murmurs giddily.

Desmond huffs out a laugh, amused. "Absolutely. So, tomorrow then?"

"It's a date," Delsin agrees, throwing him a grin, and then goes back to spraying.

Desmond considers him, looking the guy up and down and then looks at the mural. "Yeah. It's a date."


	18. Chapter 18

" _It's a date_!" Delsin mutters mockingly. "Genius, Delsin, pure comedic genius."

And you'd think he'd have enough on his plate, worrying about the event, about the construction, about the protests, about the looking threat of attack by lingering members of the DUP, about keeping his people safe and happy and fed – but noo, it's one stupid slip of a tongue his brain gets caught on. Like it even matters. Desmond hadn't taken it seriously, why would he, it was a joke! A bad one at that. One Delsin had used before, and it had never gone anywhere, because everyone got that it was a joke.

Except his brain right now, because _what if_? What if it wasn't a joke? What if Desmond did take it seriously? Not like dead serious, but a _little_ seriously, enough to, you know, think about things, notice things, though to realise that Delsin is actually a complete goddamn _moron_ –

Delsin groans, dragging his hands over his face. He's being an idiot. No one would take him seriously. Desmond hadn't. It was just – a thing people said. Not many people, but they did. No one took it for real. Right? _Right_? Even if he kinda wished that maybe –

Nope.

"I'm going to throw myself out of the window," Delsin mutters.

"Why?"

Delsin yelps and almost jumps out of his skin, as he realises Eugene is standing _right next to him_. "Dude, what the hell – where did you come from?!"

"Over there – I was invisible," Eugene says and gives him a look. "You can usually see me coming. What's up, Delsin – why do you want to jump out of the window?"

"... Right now for the sheer embarrassment of not noticing you were there. Damn, Eugene, you're getting pretty damn good at this stealth stuff, huh?" Delsin says and drags a hand down his face again. "What can I do for you, man?"

Eugene eyes him dubiously and then shakes his head. "Security issue," he says. "You know that I've been tracking the DUP channels? Well, there's been chatter about the event, the Con-Con-Con."

"... The _what_?"

"Con-Con-Con – Conduit Construction Convention," Eugene explains. "That's what they're calling it online."

"Geez, okay. What kind of chatter?" Delsin asks. "They're thinking of trying to attack?"

"Yeah, probably. They don't talk about it that much on the channel, but I think they might try something," Eugene says. "There was a mention of _making an example out of_ , which didn't sound too good. I have the audio on file if you want to listen."

Delsin frowns. "Yeah, forward it to my phone. Think you can find out more, see what they're planning?"

"I'm going to try, yeah, but I can't promise anything. They've been using their usual channels less and less, I figure they know it's not secure," Eugene says, shaking his head. "And they might start using the channels to feed us false information, too."

Delsin arches a brow. "That's smart thinking."

Eugene shrugs. "It's the plot of half of spy movies," he says. "What are we going to do? Should we cancel?

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Delsin says and hums. "I'm going to let the Mayor's office know, first of all, see what they think. There might be a way to deal with this with extra security. You wouldn't happen to know where the DUP castoffs are hiding?"

Eugene hums. "Not yet, they're masking their signatures pretty well. But I can try to locate them."

"Lemme know as soon as you have anything, also let Fetch and Desmond know, alright?" Delsin says and sighs, taking out his phone. "I gotta make a phone call."

* * *

Just as well that they're scouting out the party grounds now – the Mayor had some security concerns and is even sending a specialist to give them some pointers, to maximise the audience safety in case of a shootout or bomb threats. It puts a bit of a damper on things, really, that they might also end up with video surveillance ala DUP, but… safety is a priority and all that.

"Well, so much for our date," Desmond says quietly, seeing the security specialists waiting for them, who _clearly_ know who he is.

Delsin winces. "Yeah," he says, trying not to react and failing. "Eugene brought you up to speed?"

"He told me, yeah," Desmond agrees and looks at him. "And I don't think your new security buddies agree with your decision to bring me along for this ride."

"... Uh, you were the one who wanted to get this done early," Delsin points out. "We're here because of _you_."

"Not so loud," Desmond warns him. "Think what it looks like from their perspective – a known terrorist helping with security? That's like putting a wolf in charge of the sheep pen. Honestly, me being in charge of the arrangements for this party is a pretty bad look in general, which is why I haven't been doing it publicly, why I got Roselyn on the phone."

Delsin makes a face. On one hand, yeah, point, it's not like Delsin had forgotten, but on the other hand… "I need you here to tell me what needs to go where," he says. "That's the whole point. I send you back now, and I can't promise I'll have the ground set up the way you guys want. Also you're already here – be weird if I bring you in and then take you out immediately after."

Desmond blows out a breath, thinking about it. "Yeah, alright. Okay. Time for you to make it look like you got me on a leash, then."

"I'm sorry, _what_?" Delsin asks.

"I'm either your pet terrorist," Desmond says sympathetically. "Or you got a serious lapse of judgement happening here and are severely compromised. One of these things will get the government stepping in to manage the situation, probably – and I don't think that will go too well for any of us"

Delsin kind of wants to flail at him, but that would probably look bad from the viewpoint of the security specialists. "Um, okay, shit. What do I do?"

"You use me," Desmond says frankly. "I'm here to power up the construction. And that's it."

"... Crap," Delsin mutters. "Okay. _Fuck_. Right. Let's go."

Desmond smothers a smile and follows him – and how a guy with his height and looks can do _meek_ Delsin isn't sure, but Desmond manages it. How well it works on the security specialists is hard to say, but it definitely makes Delsin more than a bit uncomfortable.

"Mr. Rowe," the nearest specialist greets him. " _Mr. Miles_."

"Delsin, please – and don't mind him, he's here just to do his community service," Delsin says and before they can question that, throws himself into the fray. "Well, gentlemen, I heard you had something in mind for security features?"

The security guys aren't happy, that much is obvious, but as Desmond says nothing and does nothing, they tentatively put forth their plans. Mainly cover, easy exits, metal detectors, identity checks –

Desmond clears his throat there, looking away and Delsin glances at him, frowning. The guy makes a show of shame and resignation and quiets down, but it's obvious something about the identity checks bothers him.

"I think I'm gonna have to veto identity checks," Delsin says. "Also, metal detectors are just – this is an open air event, we're not even planning an _entrance_ , how do you think we could put up that kind of detectors?"

"You can make walls, can't you?"

"Kinda defeats the point of an open air event – plus, you want multiple exits, what's better than having unrestricted access?"

"It's extremely unsafe from a security standpoint, Mr. Rowe – Delsin," one of the specialists objects. "There's a very real safety issue here – we need to be checking people's bags –"

"DUP aren't going to be sneaking in disguised as civilians," Delsin says. "When they come, it's gonna be fully armoured up. And we don't have the means or the _interest_ to check people's bags."

"And what if someone brings a bomb?"

"We'll deal with it," Delsin says, more confident than he really feels. "And we'll deal with it better without the whole audience penned up behind walls. Either way, we don't have the means to do any of this – just trying will stretch us thin, and if something _does_ go wrong, we'll have even worse time dealing with it."

"The Mayor is going to station several police units at the scene," another specialist points out. "I'm sure they can pick up the slack."

"That's great – still not checking bags or identifies," Delsin says firmly. "What else do you have in mind?"

In the end, the majority of the security features will consist of concrete dividers and blocks to provide cover in case of firefight – DUP's most likely approach, apparently. Not wanting the place to look like a goddamn first person shooter stage, Delsin compromises with stone benches and tables, which he would try to make to look functional first – and a security feature by coincidence.

"What about cameras?"

"Eugene will have that covered – the angels see all," Delsin assures.

The rest of the security work is about identifying the potential points of approach – rooftops and the like – and putting together a plan for them. They're also going to close select nearby roads on the count of estimated crowds. Desmond nods to most of it, looking a little more relaxed as he listens, so Delsin assumes the security guys know what they're doing.

"I guess it's time to get to it, then," Delsin says and considers the shoreline by the broken bridge. He and Desmond had selected the southern side, as it had more shoreline and less buildings, and that way people wouldn't be blinded by the sun as much.

Delsin hesitates and then, awkward, grabs Desmond by the arm, trying to make it seem commanding. "Come on," he says. "Time to earn your upkeep."

Desmond, judging by his badly covered expression, finds the whole thing just as ridiculous as Delsin does. He still follows Delsin without complaint, just out of the security guys' hearing range.

"Sorry," Delsin mutters with a grimace.

"It's fine," Desmond assures him, amused, and looks ahead. "Put the stage on the right side – angled between the shore and the bridge, and make it as big as you can manage. Give it a back and side walls, just in case we get high winds, ramp leading up to the stage on one side and stairs on the other…"

Delsin listens to the quick instructions, trying to make it seem like he isn't taking orders from Desmond. The plan isn't overly complicated really – stage and a platform, both as big as he can manage, and the benches and tables he would add later. No big deal.

Then Desmond hits him with Solar Flare, and _oh yeah._ Even though it's not as much power as last time, and even though Delsin's braced for it, it's like, _damn_. There's nothing like it. Delsin draws a shuddering breath, watching the flames dance in Desmond's eyes, under his skin, and thinks he could really, _really_ get used to this.

Then he turns to the actual thing he's supposed to be doing and begins growing concrete from the earth.

* * *

"... _Some sort of amplifier ability, clearly_ ," the woman on TV is saying to some other people across the table. " _This just proves it – taking into account that happened when the Conduits were attacked before, how many of them had their abilities suddenly magnified, it's clear that Desmond Miles is what one could call a passive Conduit_."

" _And just because he can power up others, he can't do anything on his own_?" another talking head, this one an older male, scoffs. " _All we have had is two examples of this terrorist's – not **bio** -terrorist's, but an actual terrorist's, ability – that's not nearly enough proof to rule out that he could be extremely dangerous. The man killed almost a dozen people – and attacked an American company, and he's clearly powerful –_"

" _I'm not denying that – what I'm saying is that we shouldn't jump to conclusions –_ "

Third speaker jumps into the fray. " _Delsin Rowe seems to have the man under control, and if his powers help with the bridge reconstruction, I say we let him use the man –_ "

" _Use, like he's some kind of tool? A human battery_?"

Delsin shakes his head at the talk, which has been going on in circles for a while now, as the non-Conduit correspondents try to decide how far behind the bars Desmond should go, and whether it is a good thing that Conduits have a power-battery like him at their disposal. It is – it is kind of nauseating.

The security guys didn't seem to think highly of Desmond, but the public had noticed – the public had _opinions_. They ranged from, " _he should be thrown into a hole_ ," to " _is this some form of Conduit-on-Conduit abuse, and if it is, is it a human rights violation, and if so, does anyone really care what Conduits do to each other so as long as they don't do it to humans_?"

"I'm sorry about this," Delsin says gloomily, as Desmond sits beside him.

"Why?"

"They're talking about you like you're not even human, it's disgusting," Delsin says, half tempted to throw the remote at the TV.

"It's not right – I mean, they're all wrong. So what does it matter?" Desmond shrugs and leans back a little, stretching out his legs. "They can say what they want about me, I don't care."

"It's messed up. We're people too, humans, we should have some fucking rights," Delsin mutters. "I don't like them talking about me like that either – like I am someone who would use others like that."

Desmond gives him a look, and it's _definitely_ fond this time, enough so that Delsin is damn glad that he's wearing a beanie – his ears gotta be glowing, they feel so hot. "You're a good man, Delsin," Desmond says. "But I think you're gonna have to keep up the act, unless you want me behind bars."

"Ugh," Delsin mutters, and then flinches as his phone rings – and it's neither Eugene's, or Fetch's ringtone. Which means it's either Official Business, or…

"Oh," Delsin murmurs, seeing the name on the screen. He answers it immediately. "Hey, Betty!"

" _Delsin Rowe, I just finished watching the news – what's this about you using another Conduit, draining their lifeforce_?"

Delsin blinks. "I – what? No, wait, that's not it – the news guys are totally blowing the whole thing out of proportion."

" _I just saw that other Conduit slump over in a dead faint after what you did_!"

Delsin winces. Yeah, Desmond had done that, playing it up for the security guys and for the cameras – they had a news chopper overhead by the second platform building, and by the third Desmond was really getting into the act. Which was kinda amusing at the time – it was barely a tenth of the power boost the guy could give, what he gave to Delsin. Having him stumble around like a drunkard when Delsin knew for a fact the guy was almost fully charged up still… it was funny at the time. Delsin had to carry Desmond out of there, and the guy was chuckling all the way to the Compound.

But maybe it didn't look that funny from afar. Maybe it looked like Delsin drained the guy dry. Shoot.

"I promise you, Desmond is just fine – it was a bit of – of playacting for the cameras, really," Delsin says, and it sounds kinda weak even to his own ears. Even Desmond gives him a dubious look.

" _Playacting_?" Betty repeats suspiciously.

"Y-yeaah," Delsin agrees. "We didn't want to scare people with how strong Desmond really is, so… a bit of acting."

Desmond looks back to the TV, shaking his head.

" _Delsin_ ," Betty says, even more suspicious. " _What kind of mischief are you up to now? And is it true that the man is a terrorist_?"

"It's not, I swear to you Betty, Desmond is an okay guy. It's just – mislabeling, really," Delsin promises. "And he's fine, I promise…"

It takes a while to convince Betty that no, seriously, Delsin wouldn't do that to a fellow Conduit – a spiel that seems to amuse Desmond, who's started smiling halfway through it. Eventually Betty relents with a, " _Alright, fine, but I don't want to see that on the news again, Delsin. It made my blood run cold, seeing you do that to someone_."

Delsin grimaces guiltily. "Can't promise that, Betty, I'm sorry. Desmond's going to be helping us repair the bridges, including the one to Salmon Bay." And this time, it probably will be an actual drain on the guy's reserves. "But on the other hand, we're repairing the bridges, how about that, yeah?"

" _Oh, Delsin_ ," Betty sighs. " _If only your brother could see you now. You can be damn certain I'm coming to Settle the moment the roads are clear again_ –"

"You don't have to do that – actually, you probably shouldn't, things are still a bit tense here –"

 _"I haven't seen a hair of you since you healed the tribe – and really, seeing you on the TV is even worse than not seeing you at all! I am coming there, I'm going to see this compound of yours and meet all your new Conduit friends, and that's that –_ "

Delsin stares at nothing with mounting horror. "Betty, come on –"

" _I will_ ," Betty agrees smugly. " _Just as soon as you fix those bridges. And I'm not coming alone_."

She hangs up not much after that, leaving Delsin with a feeling of trepidation and warm fuzzies fighting each other. "Oh, man," Delsin groans. "She's going to bring the whole damn tribe, isn't she?"

Desmond arches his brows. "Tribe?"

"Uhm – yeah, tribe – my tribe, I'm, uh. I'm Akomish," Delsin shrugs which, _smooth, Delsin, so smooth_. "It's not a big deal, really."

"Huh," Desmond says. "Cool."

Delsin looks down, vaguely embarrassed and then annoyed about being embarrassed. He'd never been that into the whole Akomish way of living, but it's nothing he needs to or should be ashamed of. "This," he pats his tattooed arm, "is Akomish – Betty, she's like our tribe elder, designed it. The raven that swallowed the sun."

Desmond looks at him, and his expression is definitely amused. "Well, that's – ironic, all things considered."

Delsin blinks at that, and then gives him a look. "Seriously?" he asks, hoping his sudden flush doesn't actually show on his face. "I'm opening up about my background here, man. Way to be a dick."

Desmond chuckles. "You're right, sorry. It's cool," he says. "I'm not too informed about the western tribes – what does the raven that swallowed the sun symbolise, then?"

Delsin, not really having expected to actually _explain_ , flounders a little, explaining the story – and Desmond listens, actually listens, like he's interested. And not like Fetch did, where she humoured him to be nice, but indigenous myths kinda obviously weren't really her thing.

"I like that," Desmond says once he's done, leaning back thoughtfully. "That's nice."

"How about yours?" Delsin asks, glancing at the guy's tattooed left arm.

"Eh, my indigenous ancestry is kinda so far down the bloodline that I don't think I can really call them mine – the Kanien'kehá:ka," Desmond says. "One of the Iroquois tribes. The, uh… the Mohawk tribe."

Delsin blinks at him. "Wait, what – seriously? _You_ have indigenous ancestry?"

Desmond shrugs. "It was so many generations back that if I bring it up unprompted, I'll just seem like a dick. But yeah, back in the early 1800s."

"Huh. I wouldn't have guessed," Delsin says. "You into some kind of ancestral tracing – or is this one of those Assassin Brotherhood things?"

"Little bit of both?" Desmond hums at that and then looks at him, nudging at him with his elbow. "Never got the chance to learn much about the tribes these days, though. Wanna tell me more about the Akomish?"

Delsin leans back a little, trying not to feel flattered by the interest and utterly failing. "Well, uh, there's not that much to say. Salmon Bay is kinda small – most everyone's either a fisherman, or they work at the fish cannery…"


	19. Chapter 19

The protests end finally, 4 days before the Con-Con-Con event. The general consensus is that they're just taken a break and will probably continue, harder than ever, at the event - which is probably right. Still, the shoreline is finally free of people and quiet after all the shouting.

It's also covered with trash. Fast food stuff, broken signs, wrappers of every kind, cans, bottles - is a junkyard, really. There's trash in the water too, enough that it's bobbing on the waves in little clusters.

"Sad to see," Roselyn comments while she and Desmond view the shoreline. "Especially since one of their grievances was about our compound destroying the shore ecosystem."

"Yeah," Desmond agrees, drumming his fingers against the concrete balustrade. They still got a bunch of things to do for the event, but… "Wonder if there's something we could do about that. The Plastic girl could maybe repurpose it?"

"Hmm, maybe. Katsuhito could probably compost the organic material, paper and such, Finley could deal with the cans, and whatever's left, little Hugo can reduce it to dust," Roselyn comments. "Would have to get out there and collect it all first, and separate it."

Neither of them move, just watching the trash bob in the waves.

"How is Hugo doing?" Desmond asks, glancing at her.

"Still waiting on his family, same as everyone. With the bridges down, no one can come in easily, or go out," Roselyn sighs. "My girls are camping just on the other side of the 520."

"Here's hoping the event goes well," Desmond muses and pushes away from the balustrade. "We had someone here who can do telekinesis, right? Maybe they could help bring all that trash here."

People aren't exactly thrilled with cleaning up after the non-Conduits, but it's not like there's much else for most of them to do - even the ones working on the Con-Con-Con are just waiting for the day to come, now, or practicing their powers in preparation. With a little bit of urging - and Roselyn letting a couple people really hear it - they get a clean up crew together, including Eunice, the Telekinesis Conduit, who is a woman even older than Roselyn.

"Didn't have much sight left, before that time when the DUP attacked us at the parking lot," she admits with a laugh. "But I haven't even needed glasses since! Conduit healing is really something, isn't it?"

She still has some hard time gathering all the trash, and so Desmond gives her a slight power boost, watching as her withered cheeks get some more colour and her thin hands grow a bit stronger. She woops with giddy excitement and then reaches both hands out towards the shoreline - and all the loose bits of trash rise into the air.

Soon they have a pile of assorted trash sitting on the platform Delsin had made for the stolen DUP shipping containers.

"Weren't you supposed to start saving your strength for the bridges?" Delsin comments, watching them from above.

"Eh it was just a little bit," Desmond shrugs. "Besides, it's a sunny day. Wanna come help?"

Delsin considers the pile of trash and the people who are finally poking at it and then sighs. "Guess it's my civic duty," he sighs and jumps off the balcony, landing weightlessly beside him. "So what are we doing with this bunch of crap?"

"Sorting it into plastics, metals and compostables," Desmond says, pointing where stuff should go. "Everything else we put aside over here - everyone be careful of sharp objects, alright?"

All in all, it's not that much trash - a decent amount, sure, but it could be worse. Sorting it out takes about two hours, and then that sit back as various material Conduits take their shot at recycling - Eshter turning the plastic trash into new flower pots, Finley taking the mostly aluminium stuff and turning it into balls for later use, Katsuhito turning the food, cardboard and paper scraps into soil…

What they're left with is mostly glass and the kind of toxic stuff they can't do anything with - not unless Daniel the glass Conduit comes to get the glass and Karena the Radiation Conduit takes a shot at the batteries and other toxic waste.

"I've been practicing," she murmurs, her arms glowing faintly green. "And everything can be used in fusion and fission. _Everything._ "

Which is not terrifying at all, nope.

Delsin watches her carefully and then nods. "She's gotten better at controlling the radiation spill," he says, satisfied, as the green sinks under Karena's skin and she draws a shuddering, but definitely satisfied breath.

"Seems like a power with limited uses," Desmond comments quietly. And all of them seem kinda bad to him.

"You'd think," Delsin says and grins. "Most every Conduit can produce a little light as a side effect of doing what they do - Karena can probably produce fake sunlight with her thing, and a lot of it too. We've been talking about it, actually - it might be the safest way to release her power when charged up - converting one form of energy into another. "

Desmond arches his brows. "Really? Can you do that too?"

"There's no more blast cores, so I'm having a bit harder time mastering her power than she does," Delsin admits ruefully and then glances at him. "... But maybe, in time."

Desmond looks at him and then smiles, the smile only widening when Delsin looks away, grinning.

Well. It's certainly something to look forward to.

* * *

With the protests finally died down, Delsin makes them a bridge, followed by a quick announcement.

"Everyone is free to come and go - except for one notable exception, who knows who he is," Delsin says, and Desmond waves, smiling. "Just be careful out there. We don't all of us have phones, and the phones we have are limited, so if you go out, maybe do it in company. Tensions are still pretty high in the city, so take care of yourselves, don't get in trouble - don't do anything that will get the cops called on you, because I will be the one who will have to deal with you. And I really don't want to have to do that. So. Everyone just play cool, and we'll get through this together."

Everyone gets handed a list of numbers to contact in case they do get in trouble out there, but overall not that many want to go out, not while there's still a very good chance of them being attacked. It's mostly young adults and teenagers that want to go to see Seattle, but thankfully even they seem to understand the severity of the situation.

The unhappiest are the DUP supporters, who complain loudly to anyone who would listen, and the Mayor, who gives Delsin some hard time, judging by the number of calls he gets.

"What am I supposed to do, keep them imprisoned here?" Delsin scoffs. "This is not the second Curdun Cay Station, and I have no intention of making it one."

Desmond watches him sideways as the guy huffs into the phone irritably. "Well, I can't _protect_ them forever either. It's mostly adults here, with free will and independent thought and everything. Sure, they might get into trouble, but that's just life -" he stops and listens for a moment and then rolls his eyes. "I'm sure they would like it better - but I'm kinda hoping to avoid total goddamn segregation here. You want to dub us as second class citizens, go ahead, you can have fun rebuilding your own bridges while you're at it -"

The call goes for a while longer, ending with Delsin saying, "I'm sure it is. Thank you for compromising, Ms. Mayor, it's much appreciated," and then hanging up.

"Sounded like a fun conversation," Desmond comments.

"People would be more comfortable if you Conduits stayed among your own kind, my ass," Delsin mutters and turns his phone screen off. "They got some old politicians back on the city council, and damn, they want to shove us to the side as hard as they can. If they can't get rid of us, and they can't control us, they will fence us off. Tch."

"You're not going to let them," Desmond comments.

"Damn right, I won't," Delsin scoffs and puts the phone away. "We're going to do this bridge thing, we're going to make it so damn epic that no one will ever forget us, and after that any whisper of anti-Conduit bullshit will be squashed like the crap it is."

Desmond smiles. "Yeah," be agrees.

Delsin glances at him and then sighs, turning to lean his hip on the balustrade. "You know there's already been a few incidents with Curdun Cay Station Conduits, who got into trouble out there."

"You're not responsible for all of them," Desmond says. "They choose to leave - what they do and what happened to them is on them."

"One robbed a store - another stopped an accident from happening. They were treated about the same," Delsin says, fiddling with his fingers and looking away. "I got us some goodwill here, but it doesn't stretch far, you know? And it's stretching pretty thin here too. I just… I thought I changed people's minds already."

"Stuff like this takes time - or a revolution," Desmond says sympathetically. "I don't think there's a way around that."

"Yeah," Delsin says and sighs. "Guess I'm starting to see that… this will probably take years. Years, during which I'm going to have to keep on working, if I want to do it right. And I'm already freaking _exhausted_."

Desmond hums in understanding. "You're doing good, you know," he says. "The start was a bit faltering, but you're getting better. This Con-Con-Con thing is one hell of a next step. It will make a real difference."

"And yet it's just a start, isn't it?" Delsin asks, shaking his head. "There are going to have to be other events. We're going to have to keep showing people what we're _really_ like, until they actually get the message."

"Yeah," Desmond agrees, and looks away, at the mezzanine. "Probably. But maybe concentrate on getting this one right, first, before you start borrowing trouble from the future."

Delsin snorts and looks down at his hands, tugging at his fingers in thought. "Just wish my brother was here. Reggie - he was the sheriff of Salmon Bay, he'd… he would've known how to do this right."

Desmond glances at him to see what the guy needs - comforting words, touch, shoulder to lean on, what? Delsin's body language is a bit tense, but the line of his shoulders is loose as he frowns at nothing. Hmm. "You wanna talk about him?"

"Not really," Delsin says and then says, "He came to Seattle with me, when I decided to go after Augustine. She killed him - encased him in concrete, and he… fell off the west side bridge. I couldn't stop it - I didn't have concrete then."

Desmond listens to the break in his voice and then frowns. "Did you, ah… did you get him, after?"

Delsin's cheek flexes. "Couldn't. Can't swim."

Desmond looks away, trying to desperately think of how to put this delicately. Actually… probably better is he doesn't. "Alright," he says. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Delsin says and sniffs, putting up a false grin. "He'd never believe the shit I'm getting into these days. I was a bit of a screw up before."

"That's hard to imagine, you're getting on pretty well now," Desmond comments, smiling.

"Fake it till you make it, my man," Delsin says and pushes away from the balustrade, looking half relieved and half embarrassed. "Anyway, I've got some stuff to do. I'll catch up with you later, alright?"

"I'll probably be here, yeah," Desmond agrees, and with a loose salute Delsin heads off with a burst of smoke, Desmond waits a moment, just to make sure Delsin's really gone, and then straightens up and turns away, his face set.

He has a Water Conduit to find.

* * *

During his stay in Abstergo's tender hospitality, Desmond might've not learned much about how being a Conduit worked, power-wise, he had all the motivation in the world to not use his powers back then… but he did learn how it worked genetically.

The Conduit thing is genetic, and though it can vary a bit in expression, it's a pretty dominant trait, _autosomal_ dominant. Which means that basically you either have the gene and _are_ a Conduit, or you're just not - there's really no having the gene and not also being a Conduit. The tricky bit is the activation - whether you are an _activated_ Conduit or inactive one, and how, exactly, do you activate a Conduit in the first place.

Massive power surge can do it. Some chemicals and hormones can do it. Most usually, though, it's an immediate life-threatening situation that does it - either someone threatens you, or something that means more to you than your own life, and in self-defence the Conduit gene activates.

That's what happened to most Conduits in Curdun Cay Station - that's what happened to Delsin too.

And there's a chance - a small change - that it might've happened to Reggie Rowe too. The guy was Delsin's _brother,_ which means he had at least 50/50 chance of having the Conduit gene.

"But didn't that guy get encased in concrete and dropped off a bridge?" Aideen the Water Conduit asks dubiously.

"Yes - _encased_ ," Desmond says. "How many times did you get encased in concrete by Augustine? Her crap could cut off our air, but it didn't kill us, right?"

She hesitates, considering. "Should - shouldn't you be talking to Delsin about this?"

"There's a chance the guy might be alive down there, but it's not a _big_ chance," Desmond admits and shakes his head. "Delsin's still mourning, I don't want to give him false hope if it turns out that his brother is dead after all. I mean, first Reggie would've had to be a Conduit, and _then_ he would've had to come active during that precise moment - it's a pretty long shot. But as long as there's any chance…"

"It should be checked out," she murmurs, giving him a thoughtful look.

"Will you do it, please?" Desmond asks. "Without telling anyone? We don't want Delsin to know, not until we have good news."

Aideen is quiet for a moment before nodding. "Alright, I'll do it tonight," she says.

"Do you need a… boost?" Desmond asks, a little flare of Solar dancing over his fingers as he wiggles them in explanation. "I'm saving up for the bridges, but I can spare you a little."

"I mean - I would love to feel that sometime, missed it during the attack, but… nah. I get charged up by the water," Aideen shrugs. "I'm good."

"Alright," Desmond says and blows out a breath, trying to calm his suddenly pounding heart. "He should be somewhere near the west side bridge, that's where Delsin said he fell. Come find me when you find anything, alright?"

"Okay," Aideen agrees and then hesitates, looking at him. "You're really doing this for Delsin?"

"Well. Yeah?" Desmond asks, giving her a look in turn. "Why else?"

She hums and nods, and somewhere the schism finally closes completely.

* * *

It's the longest wait Desmond had had since, well… the Pit, really. He spends it mostly soaking up sunlight and coordinating with Roselyn and Jack, who, in turn, are coordinating with the stores and restaurants and other businesses that would be setting up temporary shops at the event ground. Some of the tents were already pitched up and ready, while others were fighting over who got to set up where. There was also the issue of the musicians - they had three local bands that would be doing it for charity, collecting donations while they were playing. The issue now was the fact that they had no tech for them, no audio systems, nothing.

" _I'm trying to get a local music store to get interested in sponsoring, but they're hemming and hawing over it_ ," Roselyn reports over their group chat.

" _Maybe we have an Audio Conduit who can help_?" Jack asks, probably not very seriously

 _"I think we would've heard about them by now_ ," Soraya writes.

"Nice one," Desmond types, grinning.

" _I wasn't making a pun_."

"Too late, it was already a pun."

" _I can't believe I thought you were actually cool at one point_."

" _I'm going to put the bands into the same group chat and see if they can come up with something together - they gotta have some kind of sound stuff ready,"_ Hyeon says. " _Be pretty poor bands if they had nothing._ "

"We don't have anything, does that make us shitty event organisers?" Desmond asks, to a resounding **_yes_ ** from everyone. "Well, screw you all. See if I organise another event with you ever."

And so it goes. Eventually people start dropping off the conversation as it gets later, and soon Desmond is alone with his worry and excitement, drinking in the last rays of the setting sun - which in a weird way are almost sweeter than usual sunlight. Might be all that blue light, refracted away - setting sun is like hot chocolate.

It kinda makes the fact that it's followed by several hours of no sun at all suck all the more.

Closing his laptop, Desmond sighs and then begins making his way down from the pillar. Soraya's people are closing up the supply station, though the tables are still open, lit by a string of fairy lights someone - Desmond suspects Fetch - had strung up above them in a messy crisscross pattern. There are a few people sitting by them, watching TV - Desmond is tempted to go join them, but instead heads out to the first floor balconies, just in case he might spot Aideen at work. Just in case…

He's all jittery - and several days worth of stored up sun is not helping there. It's almost literally bursting at the seams by now - his skin is marked with circuitry again, gleaming under the light of the rising moon.

Running a hand down the marks on his forearm, Desmond sighs. He's been actively not thinking about it, but the Conduit gene and Isu are the same gene. Altaïr and Ezio and Ratonhnhaké:ton and Edward and all the others, they could've been Conduits too, even beyond having Eagle Vision and being mildly psychic. Now that's a weird thought. 

Probably better to keep on not thinking about it. 

Sighing, Desmond leans on yet another concrete balustrade and looks out to the darkening waters, and can just barely make out a shape, cutting through the waves with incredible speed. Aideen, moving through her element. Only, her shape is way bigger than it should be, making bigger waves and more noise than she should be.

Desmond flashes a little Solar her way, and she alters her course, aiming towards him. As Desmond watches, his eyes widening, Aideen shoots out of the bay, carrying something in enormous arms made of water. A misshapen concrete block, which she sets down on the balcony with infinite care.

Reggie Rowe is alive, then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck it. Happy endings for everyone.


	20. Chapter 20

Delsin can't sleep. It's partially the fact that as long as he's charged up he doesn't really need to sleep and partially the fact that tomorrow… tomorrow is the day before the event. Final day for the preparations.

Two weeks in the works, and now it feels like they've barely done _anything_ – like they've half-assed everything, the training, the organisation, the publicity, all that crap. What have they really done, what has _he_ really done? Hung around making phone calls and playing with Concrete, mostly. Is that enough? It can't be enough. What if no one shows up – what if _everyone_ shows up and they mess up everything?

Pulling his beanie over his eyes, Delsin groans and runs through the list again. The bridge engineers had okayed their work and would be there to supervise. Fetch had promised she and the others have hell of a show ready. Eugene had upped the number of angels he could produce to nearly thirty, and he'd recruited some other conduits to event security too – and there'd be cops on site for extra security. The rooftops and stuff would be covered in case of DUP activity, and there would be other surveillance too, _and_ one Conduit on Desmond's team could stop time, so if something happened…

Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, Delsin tries to think what else they could do, short of hiring private security – which they don't have money for. Maybe Desmond could give Eugene a power boost? No, they'd need all the juice for the bridge, and Desmond would have to go straight to charging up for the next day… shit, maybe there still were some core relays out there and Delsin could use them to learn the ability of self-multiplication…

"A-hem, excuse me, Delsin?" A careful voice asks. "I hate to bother you but, uh, Desmond asked for you? It's, uh… important?"

Delsin opens his eyes and then pushes his beanie back to see who it is. "Aideen? You're soaking wet."

"Oh, right – sorry," she says and quickly pulls the water out of her clothes and into a floating ball over her hand. "I went for a swim – um, Desmond wants you."

Delsin hates his heart for doing a little skip at the word choice. "Right – where is he?" He asks and gets up from the concrete bench he'd been lying on.

"On the bottom floor, west side balcony," Aideen says, shuffles her feet nervously, and then blurts out, "You should hurry," before taking off at a jog.

Delsin blinks after her before grabbing Neon from one of the many signs Fetch has been pitching up all over the place. He's down on the first floor in a flash and on the balcony in another. Desmond isn't hard to find in the darkness of the late evening – he's glowing almost constantly now, Solar breaking through the seams. He's crouched by something that's almost completely hidden behind the light.

"What's up?" Delsin asks, jogging over to him. "Aideen said it was something serious –" he stops when he sees what it is that has the guy interested. A misshapen blob of concrete. "Wait, is that?"

Desmond glances up at him and then back down at the concrete blob. "He's alive in there," he says, running his hand down the shell. "I've been trying to give him Solar, but I can't get through the concrete."

"That-that's one of the – Augustine did that," Delsin stutters, as his heart leaps into a painful pounding within, hard enough that it feels like his chest suddenly _rattles._ "How long – shit," he quickly reaches for the wall, to switch to Concrete. "Where did you even _find_ –"

Desmond says nothing, just steps back as Delsin reaches forward and cracks the concrete shell open. An ourstretched hand comes visible first, and Desmond makes an aborted move to reach for it, to offer the guy some Solar – but then the whole shell falls apart, concrete chunks scattering across the balcony, as the person underneath comes revealed. And Delsin – stops.

He's facing away, but Delsin knows that jacket. The jeans. Hell, even the gun holster is there and the patch on the jacket shoulder. _Salmon Bay County,_ it says on top and below it… _Sheriff._

Reggie.

"No," Delsin says, half bitten off, his body fighting between backing away and going down on his knees to crawl forward. "No, no, no – it can't be – _Reggie_ –"

His hands find themselves on Reggie's back, and at first it feels hard to touch, like there's just stone under the jacket, and Delsin's chest squeezes like a vice around his heart – and then he realises, Reggie's wearing a bulletproof vest, of course he's wearing a bulletproof vest, he wouldn't have gone to face Augustine without some protection, Reggie isn't an idiot –

But he is cold to the touch. And he isn't breathing.

Delsin swings to his feet and to face Desmond. "What – why?! You did this – why would you, why did you bring him up – _why –?!"_

"Delsin –" Desmond tries to say.

"It was as good a grave as any, you didn't have to bring him up, not now, not when there's so much shit adjust going on –"

"Delsin!" Desmond snaps, grabbing at his shoulders. "He's not dead!"

"Fuck you!" Delsin snaps, pushing at him weakly, tears coming to his eyes. "How fucking _dare_ you –"

"Delsin, I swear to you I wouldn't have – just – fuck it," Desmond says, and his eyes bleed to pure golden power before Solar Flare lashes out of him, past Delsin, and right at Reggie's still body.

A Solar Flare from Desmond would probably fry a normal person, Delsin thinks, it's too much power for non-Conduit physiology to handle. Reggie doesn't fry – his still form drinks up the power, gaining that familiar haze of yellow light around him as the flare charges him up, and as his eyes open, the irises glow a vivid gold.

Delsin's knees wobble, as Solar races over Reggie and sinks into his skin and restores him after the weeks spent underwater. Then the light dies down, and Reggie collapses back down, out cold – but now breathing.

With a gentle squeeze Desmond releases Delsin's shoulders to go check for Reggie's pulse, and for a moment Delsin just teeters there in confusion. "W-what?"

"I wouldn't have brought him up just to hurt you," Desmond says quietly. "When you told me about him, I knew there was a chance, a _small_ chance, that he might've survived. I had Aideen check for it – she could feel the water in his body still _moving,_ his blood circulating, and she brought him here."

"How? How the – it's been _weeks_ ," Delsin whispers, sagging like all energy is going out of him, his bones feeling like liquid – which is almost funny, since he has Concrete charged up... "He's been down there for _weeks,_ even if he survived, how –"

And then he has to check, has to test it for himself. Reggie's hand is still limp and cold – but the beat at the base of his wrist is steady.

"He's a Conduit," Desmond says, getting out of the way so that Delsin can turn Reggie over, to see his face. "He's your brother, so he had a 50/50 chance of having the gene. And a near death experience is one of the surest ways to activate the gene."

Delsin looks at him and then down at Reggie, who's just – lying there. There's a dumb lax look on his face and his skin is pale, but he's _breathing_. He's alive. And Delsin.... "Oh fuck, I just _left_ him there –"

"Delsin, no, it's not your fault –"

"He might've been conscious, he might've been _alert_ , and I just left him there, Desmond – I left him there – it's my fucking fault –"

Desmond grips him by the shoulders again. "Did you do this to him? No – _Augustine_ did. There was no way of knowing, Delsin, alright? And even if there was – _look at me_ ," he says firmly as Delsin's eyes stray towards Reggie. "Even if there was a way to know, it doesn't matter now. That's _what if_ , what ifs don't do anything. He's alive and he's here now. Okay?"

Delsin draws a breath, shuddering all over. "Y-yeah."

Desmond squeezes his shoulder a bit more gently. "This is _not_ your fault," he says firmly. "You didn't do this to him. Okay?"

Delsin swallows and nods, and Desmond nods too, satisfied. Then he pulls Delsin into a quick hug, and it's only then Delsin realises he's shaking like a leaf. "You're okay. You want to get him inside?" Desmond asks.

"Yeah," Delsin says, and even his voice shakes. "He weighs like a _sin_ though."

"We'll manage it," Desmond snorts, pats his shoulder and stands up. "Come on – you take one shoulder, I'll take the other."

* * *

Delsin still feels a little like someone just pulled the _earth_ from under him, by the time they get Reggie laid down on one of the foldable beds they'd gotten from one of the DUP storage houses. There are no real doctors among them, but most every Conduit knows a little bit of healing, and the ones that are around, the ones that somehow recognise Reggie, say the same thing.

"Recovering from that much Concrete is a bitch," Fetch says with wincing sympathy. "It can take days."

"Indeed – it might be a lengthy recovery for your brother," Eugene's angel agrees.

Which Delsin knows, it had taken him a full week to recover the first time Augustine wiped the floor with him, back in Salmon Bay. Reggie has it even worse, being encased in concrete and becoming a Conduit at the same time. Even with Desmond zapping him with Solar and every Conduit offering their own healing power, it would probably take days.

Delsin just holds his brother's hand, constantly checking his pulse, checking there's no concrete in him, checking that he's still breathing

"I should call Betty," he murmurs.

"I'm sure it can wait until morning," Desmond says, sitting beside him. "I don't think anything is going to change in a while."

"... Yeah." Delsin draws a breath and then releases it slowly. Reggie's hand is finally warm. "You should've told me the moment you realised there was a chance."

"I didn't want to give you false hope in case I was wrong. There was a good chance I would be," Desmond admits. "If I told you, and then it turned out he hadn't survived – I couldn't do that."

"... Shit," Delsin sighs. Point, he probably would've taken that even worse. "What the fuck, man," he mutters, running a hand over his face.

"Sorry," Desmond says quietly.

Delsin looks at him. "Man, I don't want you to _apologise_ for this, not ever – I thought he was _dead_. You brought my brother back to me. What the _fuck_."

"I did what anyone would've done," Desmond says, shrugging. "I mean, innocent person stuck in rock under water and all. And he's _your brother._ Also Aideen got him up, not me."

"Yeah, but – you knew to do it, told her to do it. I just feel like I should do something to thank you. I should – shit. I should actually thank you," Delsin says, his voice coming out somehow both rough and giddy at the same time. " _Thank you_."

"Like I said, anyone would've done it," Desmond says, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"Yeah, but not anyone did. _You_ did," Delsin says, looks at Reggie – alive, alive, a Conduit, he's probably going to be pissed about that, but Reggie is _alive –_ and laughs. "Fuck, man, I could _kiss_ you."

"Well. I mean, as payments for good deeds go, I guess it's a classic," Desmond says, smiling – and Delsin might be imaging it, but he looks a little flustered. "I'll take the thanks. You're welcome, Delsin."

Delsin looks at him, at Reggie, and then thinks, _fuck it_ , and reaches over to grab Desmond by the back of his neck. Desmond, for all his height and weight, comes as easy as a breath and barely makes a surprised noise as Delsin smacks one on the guy.

"Um," Desmond says, staring at him. "Wow."

"Yeah," Delsin says and grins. "You're my goddamn _hero_."

He's never seen Desmond go red before, but that does it – and the glowing lines in the guy's face makes it incandescent. He _glows_ pink. Delsin lets out a delighted laugh and kisses him again, just to see if he could make the guy go redder. He can.

Then Desmond puts a hand on his chin, throws himself into the kiss, and it's Delsin's turn to go a little flustered, because, yeah, _wow_.

So that's what seven years of pent up emotions feels like, huh?

* * *

Delsin calls Betty, Betty cries, he cries, it's a whole mess. Especially considering that they'd had a service for Reggie, and he'd been declared dead and everything.

" _All the more reason for you to do a good job on those bridges, now – so that we can bring Reggie home to recover_ ," Betty says. " _Are you going to make an announcement about it_?"

"Probably best we don't make a huge deal out of it, not until he wakes up," Delsin says. "And, uh – well, Reggie's a Conduit now. We don't know what kind yet, but he's definitely a Conduit, so it might be better that he stays here."

" _Hmm_ ," Betty answers uncertainly.

"We need to figure out what his powers are and make sure he can control them," Delsin says and sighs. "That's kinda the deal I'm working on with the Mayor here – it's going to be on me, if any Conduits here mess up because they can't control their powers yet. And that includes Reggie now."

" _You being responsible for Reggie, now_ **_that's_ ** _a turn of events_ ," Betty says with a watery-sounding laugh. " _Alright, until he wakes up at least. You have everything you need to take care of him? You have everything you need?_ "

Delsin looks over the compound mezzanine. It's starting to look a little like a greenhouse, with all the plants and trees growing on the many balconies, with mirrors and increasingly more and more fairy lights lighting up the place. There are people hanging around, old and young, just enjoying the space, chatting with each other, testing their powers. Desmond's up on the central pillar again, basking in the light while working on something on his computer. There's a quiet hum of chatter in the air, and it's calm and homely.

There's still missing stuff, furniture is still a bit sparse and the water systems still need work, and they'd probably need to get hooked into the city's sewage systems and electricity, and then they'd need some way to pay for it… the place is very much a work in progress. But damn if they haven't gotten some progress done.

"Yeah," Delsin says with a smile. "Yeah, I've got everything I need here."

" _Well, alright then,_ " Betty says. " _You call me if anything changes, and the moment Reggie wakes up, I want to know about it_."

"Okay, Betty, I'll call you as soon as anything happens," Delsin says and spots Fetch, coming his way in a streak of Neon. "Gotta go now, still got stuff to do for tomorrow."

" _Alright, Delsin. Good luck tomorrow! We'll all be watching the livestream_!"

Delsin frowns as she hangs up. There's a livestream?

"Hey," Fetch says, jumping to join him. She's grinning, and he's immediately on edge. "Guess what I just heard?" She asks, her voice almost a song of _glee_.

"Oh no, what?" Delsin says warily.

She grins wider. "Someone spotted _someone_ getting frisky in our brand new infirmary. In front of your own unconscious brother, Delsin, for _shame_ –"

"Hey, it wasn't – it was just a kiss, alright – okay, several kisses, but it wasn't exactly _frisky_ – shut up," Delsin says hisses at her.

Fetch positively leers at him. "Several kisses, Delsin, _damn_."

"Shut up –" Delsin groans and drags his hands down his face. "Oh my fucking – who else knows?"

"By now? Probably everyone," Fetch says innocently.

"I hate you."

"You like me," Fetch snorts. "Should I take it that he's definitely off the market then? Wouldn't want to hit on your man, my dude."

Delsin gives her a worried look. "You still –"

"What can I say – the guy can rock a three day stubble, and that hair provides ample handholds," Fetch grins, and at his look laughs. "I'm just messing with you. How was it?"

"Well, now I'm not sure I should say," Delsin mutters and then sighs. "I don't know if it's anything yet – I mean. Great kissing aside, we didn't exactly… state intentions or stake claim or anything."

"Yet. You're gonna though, yeah?" Fetch says. "Or I can do it for you."

"Please don't," Delsin sighs. "I'll, uh – I'll ask him, I guess. I mean, it might've been nothing. Just, you know, kissing."

"Uh-huh. By your unconscious brother's bedside. Just kissing. Yeah," Fetch says, her words just dripping with sarcasm. "Sure."

"Shut up," Delsin sighs. "Are you and your guys ready for tomorrow?"

"As ready as we'll ever be," Fetch agrees. "We got one hell of a light show planned. Neon and Static and Fire, it's going to be a blast."

"I can't wait," Delsin grins. "Not that I will have time to watch. Too busy building."

"Yeah. Are _you_ ready for it?" Fetch asks.

"Damn, I hope so. I would hate for all the training we did to be for nothing," Delsin muses. "I just hope nothing else goes wrong. No DUP last stand or anything."

"Eugene is on it – and hell, if there will be, there's going to be over three dozen Conduits on the ground, just itching to take them on," Fetch says, which is honestly worrying, until she adds, "And don't worry, me and Eugene got you covered – we checked that everyone knew how to restrain. Well, most everyone, not everyone here have abilities suitable for restraining, but most do, and we made sure they knew how to do it."

"You did?" Delsin asks, surprised.

"You were busy, and we figured, since it was the first thing you taught us…" Fetch trails away with a shrug and a smile. "You've done good by us, D. So we figured we could pay back in kind, passing your teachings of pacifism on."

Delsin lets out a laugh. "I'm not really a pacifist. I just – prefer we don't kill people."

"Yeah. It's adorable," Fetch says and actually reaches over to pinch his cheek. "You're so _good_ sometimes – and then you go deface a building wall with graffiti. It's endearing, really." She smacks a kiss on his cheek, like making a point. "A do-gooder vandal."

"Shove off," Delsin answers, giving her a light shove.

With a laugh, Fetch jumps back, flashing Neon. "Go give your boyfriend a kiss – I think I made him jealous," she says, and then she's off, streaking to who knows where.

Delsin rubs at his frankly _abused_ cheek and glances up. Desmond is watching him, though he turns his eyes back to the laptop when he spots Delsin looking.

Well. Well-well-well.

Delsin wipes his cheek clean and then grabs Video from a nearby television before flying up the pillar. Desmond easily makes room for him, but doesn't get up.

"We've gotten confirmations from all the businesses and bands," Desmond says. "Some of them are going to start setting up today – and everyone should be in place by noon tomorrow."

"That's great," Delsin says and crouches down beside him. "Any issues?"

"Some whispers of people protesting, and then there's some more whispers about counter-protesting – but for now it looks like they will stay outside the actual event areas," Desmond says and smiles. "Even the people most vocal against Conduits really want those bridges fixed."

"That's good, that's good," Delsin agrees, and looks at him, trying to think of something to say. "So, uh…"

Desmond arches his brow, and Delsin can feel himself go red. That brings a smile to the guy's face, before he looks back at the laptop. "A known terrorist is probably not the right guy for a known hero," he comments.

"Screw that. Didn't I say – you're _my_ hero. And what do I care about what anyone else says," Delsin says, relaxing. "We're kinda co-parenting the Conduit Second Age here, too, in case you missed it. I need you."

Desmond coughs, amused and a little flustered. "Well, when you put it that way. What do you have in mind?"

"Well, after all this blows over and we have some free time, I'm thinking you and me, and, uh," Delsin thinks about it for a moment. "Do you still have that pile of pillows?"

Screw being powered up by the guy – Delsin could really get used to making Desmond _glow pink._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> u3u


	21. Chapter 21

The day of the Con-Con-Con dawns bright and sunny, with the whole compound buzzing with activity. Despite the fact that the thing won't actually start until noon, everyone's up early, putting together final preparations or just eagerly getting ready to go out and take part in the festivities. The nervous excitement is almost tangible in the air.

It's mostly out of Desmond's hands by this point. He can't go out looking like he's part of the crew organising the thing, so Roselyn, Jack and Soraya have more or less taken up his role and are running the nitpicky stuff in the background – organising schedules, making sure everyone knows where to go, that everyone has their speeches in order. Delsin, Eugene and Fetch would all be giving speeches, with a few words from Fetch's show crew and from Delsin's Metal Conduits. It would be a pretty full day.

Desmond spends most of the morning soaking up sunlight and trying not to burst.

"Well, no need to ask if you're ready to go," Soraya snorts when Desmond comes down from the pillar. "How are you getting to the site?"

"Delsin," Desmond says, stretching. "I should have enough for today, but tomorrow and the day after might be a bit trickier – I don't suppose you could make me mirrors on the party grounds?"

"I think I can do that," Soraya agrees and looks over the mezzanine, where people are putting together a sign asking for donations. "Do you think this will actually work?"

"Work – work how?"

She gives him a look. "Do you think this will change people's minds about us, make them accept us?"

Desmond sighs. "Not universally, not yet – but unless something goes seriously wrong, I think this will give us the benefit of doubt. Delsin is right about Conduits – there's so much good we can do that people don't see. This will show some of that, and hopefully make people think."

Soraya hums. "I keep thinking that… we go out there, we get this show on the road, and the moment we let down our guards, we're going to get surrounded by the military and DUP, and they'll just lock us all up, if not just kill us on the spot."

"Well," Desmond hums. "It's not an entirely unreasonable fear, all things considered."

"Yeah," she agrees. "Augustine might be behind bars, but the world hasn't changed. Not yet."

"Yeah. Guess we better get to it and change it, don't we?" Desmond says and gives her a smile. "We'll be alright. They won't let anything happen to us."

"Delsin Rowe is good, but he's just one guy," Soraya says flatly.

"He is," Desmond agrees. "But _we_ aren't. There's a lot more of us, you know, Conduits working together. And I think as long as we keep working together, we'll probably be alright."

It's not the only pep talk he gives before the event to increasingly nervous and anxious Conduits, so maybe that counts as him contributing, after all. Tensions at the compound are understandably high, and outside, in Seattle, there's an atmosphere of expectation – and it's hard to say if they're expecting something fantastic… or just for something to go wrong. Either way, it definitely doesn't help people's nerves.

Telling them that it's too late to get nervous now, they're pretty much out of time, is probably not the right idea, so what Desmond mostly says is, "You know what, why don't we just say _fuck it_ to everything and go out there to have a good time, huh?" It seems to help a little.

Delsin is out in various meetings for most of the morning and ends up cutting it a little short when coming to get Desmond – by that time most of the other Conduits, including the Metal Conduits, have already headed out, wandering towards the first bridge. Not all Conduits – a lot of them had opted out, others stayed to keep an eye on the building just in case, and then there's Reggie Rowe, who's still out cold, and, finally, there are kids. They're none of them too confident about letting the child Conduits, their most vulnerable members, out just yet – something that none of them are happy about, but most understand.

"People are scary," Hugo says solemnly, which is just sad on so many levels.

Desmond is just about done making sure the kids would have a chance to watch the whole thing on television, when Delsin comes for him, looking a little harried and exhilarated at the same time.

"Come on, come on, we gotta _go_ , or I'll miss my own speech!" the guy says, all but bouncing where he stands, raring to go. "Juice me up, man."

"You're the one who's late," Desmond says, even while giving him a small zap of Solar. "Don't waste that, we still don't how much – _whoa_ –"

Delsin, not answering, just sweeps him up and into his arms, and then, with concrete grinding at his feet, just fucking _surfs_ them out of the building. In no time at all they're flying over the bridge to the shore and then down the streets, barely avoiding passing cars as he speeds them towards the bridge they're supposed to be fixing. Clutching to Delsin's neck to keep from being thrown off, Desmond looks behind them, where the asphalt Delsin is flowing through ripples like water and heals itself.

"In a hurry, are we?" Desmond asks, amused.

"Freaking Mayor had last minute checks – ended up going to the event grounds with her, and then I realised you weren't there," Delsin says.

"You told me to wait for you," Desmond points out.

"I know, my bad – didn't think I needed to make an entrance with the Mayor. Now hold on – I gotta fly over that."

 _That_ being a traffic jam ahead of them. 

Curling did feet in and clutching Delsin tighter, Desmond still feels like he's about to get knocked off as Delsin launches into the air, concrete dust flying everywhere. Desmond laughs, incredulous. "How the hell are you flying with _Concrete?!"_

"Man, don't even ask, I have no idea," Delsin answers with a wild grin, while raining pebbles and dust down on the cars below. When he lands, it's with weight and momentum he usually doesn't have, and idly Desmond wonders if having Concrete charged up changed Delsin's mass – or his interaction with gravity, or… however his weightlessness usually worked.

Then they come to the party grounds, and they are _packed_. There's easily thousands of people out there, milling about, their chatter a deafening hum. They make space quickly as Delsin shouts, "Look out, make way, hero of the hour coming through!" while dropping Desmond to his feet. "Stay close."

There's a smattering of confused applause as the crowd parts in front of them. Desmond follows close behind Delsin, keeping his head low and his body language as unassuming as possible, but there's no hiding an entrance like that – or the fact that Desmond is by now glowing pretty much all over.

"Mr. Rowe," the Mayor greets them as they come closer to the concrete stage. The place had been covered in audio equipment, and there are people – non-Conduit people – working on their maintenance, doing some last minute checks.

"Ms. Mayor, assorted other people," Delsin says and grins, unrepentant, at the looks people are giving to Desmond. "Shall we get this show on the road?"

He moves forward, bulldozing right through whatever objections they might have, and hops onto the stage, waving in greeting at all the people eagerly cheering at the sight of him. It seems, despite the protests and the political issues, Delsin Rowe is still a true hero in the eyes of the people.

"Hello, my good people of Seattle, and welcome to the Conduit Construction Convention!" Delsin says to the microphone, grinning at the applause he's getting. "Now, I've got a boring speech prepared, despite the fact that I'm just going to be serving as the bridge constructor guy for the rest of this event. This time I even wrote it down and everything – just hang on a moment as I figure out where I put it…"

While Delsin entertains the crowd, Desmond stands back and takes the moment to scan the audience with Eagle Vision. The crowd is mostly grey with indifferent allegiances, but there's surprisingly a lot of blue too – a lot of people who are on the side of the Conduits. There's a couple of cardboard signs in the crowd too, but they're mostly good ones, _Remember Cole MacGrath_ and _Delsin 2020_ and stuff like that. One sign of _Never Forget Empire City_ which is a bit more glum, and a few red figures huddling around it. Most of the red is concentrated around the fringes of the crowd, where the protestors are hanging around.

There are also golden lights among the others. Conduits, in groups of two or three, listening to Delsin's speech – and unless Desmond is wrong… not all of them are from the Compound.

There's something else too, two people with a different hue of gold, a bluish gold, it's almost familiar...

"... And sure, with these abilities, those gifts we have, we can wreck a lot of havoc, we can have some epic battles," Delsin is saying. "But that's such a small part of what we can really do. In these last few weeks I've seen Conduits making new things out of nothing or out of _trash._ I've seen them building things, growing things, I've seen them do some pretty amazing creative things that had nothing to do with destroying anything. There's a real potential for building something _new_ here, and that's what we're here for today. To _make_ something out of all this. And hopefully squash a few prejudices while we're at it."

There's a smattering of applause again, a bit less loud, but more sincere. Delsin bows and gives way on the stage with, "And now the Mayor would like to say a few words."

Her speech is less impassioned and more historical, with a lot of "in the past we have acted in haste" and, "though the history is grim where Conduits are concerned, it is our very sincere hope that the future will be brighter…" and whatnot. Desmond doesn't really listen, squinting into the crowd, trying to see.

"You ready to go?" Delsin asks, coming to his side. "Miriam, Finley and Mike are already on the bridge, waiting for us – we're supposed to start as the Mayor finishes her speech."

"Yeah, sure," Desmond agrees. "Nice speech."

"Thanks – come on, I don't know how long her speech is gonna be," Delsin says, taking his hand and leading him away from the stage and towards what's left of the bridge, a mere stub by the shore. It's been fenced off with actual metal fences, not concrete – probably by the engineers, who are also waiting there. They wouldn't want any civilians getting underfoot when the concrete and steel started to fly.

"Everyone ready?" Delsin asks, while Desmond finds the sunniest spot of the bridge, which, hopefully, wouldn't get any shadows until the sun set. Sitting down there cross-legged, Desmond listens to Delsin give his construction crew a final pep talk and lifts his face towards the sun.

She's flaring too, just a little. They're just at the end of the solar cycle, and the activity has winded down from the massive peak it had in 2012. The next solar cycle would be way weaker than it had been, and idly Desmond wonders if that means he'd be weaker too. During the solar maximum of this cycle, he'd literally been unkillable, but he thinks it was probably temporary. Maybe it would be over with the cycle. Maybe afterwards there would be fewer Conduits activating too. Who knows.

"... And now, let the reconstruction begin!" The Mayor announces somewhere far away, her voice almost completely distorted by the speakers, and Desmond opens his eyes.

Delsin is standing in front of him. "Time to start," he says. "Ready?"

"Yeah," Desmond agrees and lets the sun course through.

* * *

Desmond doesn't see much of the construction, really. He can see concrete floating, he can see occasional bits of metal in the air – he can feel the power going into the reshaping then all – but his viewpoint of sitting on the bridge didn't really show them floating up from the waves first. He can only see part of the light show too, as Fetch and her crew blow people's minds and set the sky ablaze with all kinds of light. Most of it goes right past him.

The power drain is nothing in the beginning. Then he starts feeling it. Then it starts talking an actual _toll_ on him, as minutes stretch into hours and his stores are slowly being expended. The constant drain of four Conduits hard at work is not much, in the short term – but in the long term it's more than Desmond gets from the sun passively.

Delsin must see it too, as they move further down along the repaired parts of the bridge. "Do you need a break?" he asks worriedly.

"I need Soraya," Desmond says, swaying a little. "I need mirrors."

Delsin pats his shoulder. "You got it."

Soraya has definitely been practicing too – what Desmond gets is a gigantic multilayered lotus flower of curved mirrors all around him, which all direct beams of sunlight directly on him. It's hot enough and bright enough at the centre of the flower, that it would've probably been lethal for a normal person.

"I call it the Solar Flower," Soraya says smugly, while carefully staying outside of it. "How is it?"

Desmond sighs happily. "S'nice."

Soraya laughs. "Call me when you're getting ready to move – we don't want to leave this thing without a heat sink in the middle."

The rest of the bridge construction is a hot brilliant blur as Desmond basks in the light. If something happens outside the Solar Flower, he misses it completely. He thinks there's music, though. 

At some point, the construction is finished and Desmond can feel Delsin severing the umbilical cords of Solar, leaving Desmond basking in the last rays of the now setting sun, magnified hundredfold by the flower petal mirrors around him.

"How are you doing in there?" Delsin asks from outside.

"Bury me in this thing," Desmond answers a little blearily. "Also, can we have one of these on the roof?"

"I think there might be a real chance of it burning the house down," Delsin laughs. "But maybe you can have a smaller version, as a treat. Soraya's taking the Flower down now, okay?"

"Aww, fine," Desmond says and sighs disappointedly as the light dies down and he's left with only the regular old sun, made sweet by the refraction of the sunset, but much weaker compared to how it was in the Solar Flower. "Can I have one of those right at the start tomorrow?"

"Yeah, you can," Delsin says and pats his back. "Now look at what we made, man. Look at it and _weep_."

What they'd made is a bridge, which is not particularly surprising, since that's what they set out to do. It looks fine – it looks like a good, mostly normal four lane bridge you could drive a truck over.

"Nice," Desmond says, hoping that someone got it on film – he would love a different angle on the construction.

"They're going to run stability and structural integrity checks and stuff before letting people on it," Delsin says proudly. "It should open tomorrow or the day after. But damn, did we make a _bridge_ or what?"

"You sure did," Desmond agrees, smiling.

" _We_ did," Delsin says firmly, and winds an arm around his back, looking back to the Metal Conduits and Soraya. "Now come on. There's some free food with our names on it!"

They come back to the shoreline as heroes, people applauding them as they walk. The crowd had thinned out some by that point – it had been hours, after all – but that's still a decent amount of people. And there is, indeed, some food with their names on it… none of which looks particularly appetising to Desmond after all the sun, admittedly, but it's the thought that counts.

"Excuse me," someone calls from behind, while Desmond hesitates over taking a seat on the concrete table waiting for them. "Desmond?"

Desmond closes his eyes, drawing a breath and releasing it slowly. So he _did_ see them in the crowd. For a moment Desmond considers ignoring them, joining Delsin at the table and making pretense of enjoying the Chinese food offered to them, but… it would probably be just putting off the inevitable, wouldn't it?

Bracing himself, Desmond turns around.

They'd gotten… well, not _old_ exactly, but older. Shaun has slightly longer hair gone lighter with time, while Rebecca has cut her hair even shorter. She has a lip ring now – Shaun still has glasses. Their style of clothing hasn't changed.

They look like complete strangers to him. Which… probably makes sense. He'd only known them for a few months.

"H-hey there, Desmond," Rebecca says nervously, and Desmond wonders what kind of expression he has on. "It's – it's so good to see you."

"Yeah – we thought… well, you know what we thought," Shaun says. "And we heard how – we heard from Bill, so, you know –"

"But we had to see for ourselves," Rebecca says quickly. "We'll go, if that's what you want. We just thought…"

What they actually thought neither can seem to actually word, and they just stare at him, wary and hopeful. And Desmond thinks – nothing. He can't think of anything. He's drawing a complete, pristine, blank.

For a moment his mind takes him back into the Pit, and he wonders how he can recognize them at all. He really thought he'd forgotten what they looked like, what they sounded like. It hadn't taken even a year before he lost the ability to imagine their faces. Funny, how brains work in isolation.

"Desmond?" Delsin asks, coming behind him, hand winding halfway around his back. "Everything alright?"

Desmond blinks, glances down at him and then back at Shaun and Rebecca. Then he shakes his head. "Yeah – yeah, it's fine. These are my old teammates from – before," he says lamely. "Shaun and Rebecca. And this is Delsin... but you probably knew that."

"Yeah. Hey," Rebecca says, frowning slightly behind her smile. "How are you doing, man?"

Delsin hums and looks at Desmond. "You want them gone? We can get them out of here."

Desmond sighs, while Shaun and Rebecca both go tense. "No, it's – it's fine. I'm going to talk to them – is that okay?"

"If you say so," Delsin says dubiously and grips his waist for a moment reassuringly before patting his back. "Don't go far."

"I won't," Desmond says before clearing his throat and motioning to a vacant table, further away from the crowds. "You guys wanna sit down?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure," Rebecca says and then, apparently not able to hold back anymore, "Nice _hair_ , dude."

"Eh, it's grown on me," Desmond agrees, and Shaun snorts as they move towards the table.

"Hey, Desmond, wait!" Delsin calls behind them. "Got something for you! Catch!"

Desmond turns and catches the thing automatically, and then looks down at what Delsin just threw at him. Across the crowd, Delsin grins and gives him the devil horns before sitting down, looking very pleased with himself.

Smiling, Desmond sits down and starts peeling the orange. "So," he says, looking at Shaun and Rebecca, now sitting across from him. "It's been a while, huh? How have you guys been doing?"

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy endings for everyone ☀️ except Bill who can go suck a lemon
> 
> One more chapter to go.


	22. Chapter 22

_"... as we enter the third and final day of the Con-Con-Con. Can we expect a grand finale for the festivities or will the schedule be much the same, well, only time will tell – but one thing is for sure, the people of Seattle are more excited than ever to see what the day will bring. We now go live with Jim Boyle on the scene…"_

Reggie opens his eyes slowly, feeling like he'd just had the most vivid and crazy dream of his life, but he can't remember a thing of it. His vision swims for a moment, and with a groan he lifts a hand to rub at his gritty eyes – they feel like they're full of sand.

Somewhere far to the right of him, on the TV a male voice begins excitedly, _"Thank you, Julie. I'm here, at the event grounds at the base of the 520, and we've just heard the day's opening speeches. As with the previous day's event, all the booths have relocated to the new site, and it is absolutely packed with people here…"_

Reggie frowns, and, once his eyes are clear enough, turns his head to see if he can spot the TV. There's a curtain in front of him, though, and the TV is somewhere behind it – though judging by the audio, they're showing clips of the crowd.

… and Reggie is not in his bed, he'd not in any place he recognizes – he's almost fully dressed, only missing his shoes, his jacket and his gun belt – no, wait… didn't he have a bulletproof vest on –?

With a gasp, Reggie sits up. "Delsin," slips from his mouth, just as the TV reporter continues.

 _"While Delsin Rowe and his crew of by now very familiar Conduits prepare for another day of hard labour, the people attending the event are settling in for the long haul,"_ the male voice says, and Reggie's eyes widen, drawing back to the curtain.

There's another voice speaking, this one female, younger, _"Yeah, we're going to be here as long as it takes,"_ she says. _"I've got family on the other side of that bridge. And we're here to show our support too."_

_"How have your feelings about the Conduits changed over the course of the event?"_

_"I mean, I was never that against them, but after having seen them at work, it's like, damn, you know?"_

Reggie struggles to sit up, feeling as though every joint in his body pops and cracks. Everything feels heavy.

 _"How about your, sir,"_ the reporter on television asks. _"Has this event changed your mind about Conduits?"_

Another voice, male. _"Yes, it has. Just look at this – this should be the work of dozens of men working full days for months, and these guys are getting it done in a few days? That's probably hundreds of hardworking people who are being denied a full employment, right there."_

 _"I think Conduits broke the bridges, and it's just as well they fix 'em too,"_ says someone else on the TV, while Reggie stumbles to the curtain and almost through it.

There's no one watching the TV – it's just sitting there, in a niche in the grey concrete wall, playing local Seattle news, showing images of a crowd of people, of a familiar broken bridge, of something weird and bright going on on that bridge, before showing a person, a young man with a sort of hippie look to him.

 _"I'm freaking psyched, man,"_ the hippie guy says. _"I mean, did you see what they did to all that junk, a few days before the Con-Con-Con? They just repurposed all of it, turning plastic bottles right into flower pots and stuff – it was amazing. Conduits can just do that, man, take trash and just use it, turn it into other stuff. Imagine what they could do at a landfill! This is an opportunity – a whole new era of superpowered recycling!"_

While Reggie stares at the TV, trying to make sense of what he's seeing and hearing, the camera switches elsewhere, to the bridge again. It's the 520, with the broken end of it fenced off and a… gigantic glowing _flower_ sitting right in the middle of it on its widest part, something in its centre. _What?_ There are things reaching out from the flower, like floating, glowing chains, and they're attached to people at the very end of the bridge, connecting them to the centre of the flower.

As if hearing Reggie's confused and alarmed thoughts, the camera zooms on one of the people chained, as they reach their arms out and in answer a misshapen block of concrete lifts from the water below.

 _Delsin._ It has to be, it's his clothes, his _hat_ –

As Reggie gapes at the TV, Delsin and three other Conduits, their eyes glowing like demons' or something, put their powers together and fix the floating concrete with metal rods before attaching it to the bridge where the men in hardhats point, sealing the block right in with more power before looking ahead for more concrete, for more metal. They're fixing the bridge – they're – what?

The scene swings back to the reporter. _"It's estimated that the 520 will take much longer than the other bridges to fix, so it seems as though we have a full day ahead of us to see what else these Conduits can do. Needless to say, it's going to be another exciting day of the Conduit Construction Convention. Back to you, Marie."_

Reggie shakes his head, confused, as the news moves onto weather. What is going on – what was that – Conduit Construction, what… how long was he out? And just what –? The last thing he remembers is the bridge – not the 520, the other bridge, with Augustine's fortress on it. He fell off it... And Delsin –

Delsin, he has to get to Delsin.

First things first, though – shoes. And then figuring out where he is. Then, if he can get out of this place… Delsin.

Reggie makes it as far as to find his shoes, full of gravel, sitting underneath the bed he'd been sleeping on. He's trying to get the shoes clean enough to wear when someone comes to check in him – a young woman, maybe nineteen at most.

"You're awake?" she more asks than states, as Reggie stares at her. She's wearing half of a military uniform, just tags short of looking like a soldier, but there's no way she is. More than that, her white t-shirt is covered in blue smears, like someone had tried to finger-paint all over it. "Oh wow, you're awake. And up too. Hey."

"... Hey," Reggie says warily. "Where am I?"

"You're in – well, it's not an official name or anything, but the Conduit Compound. In Seattle, obviously," she says. "We didn't expect you to wake up yet, it usually takes a while."

Conduit Compound. Hmm. "Who are you – did you bring me here?"

"Yeah, kind of? I mean, Desmond is the one who figured you had a chance of being alive down there, but yeah, I'm the one who got you up," she agrees and then holds out her hand. "I'm Aideen – the Water Conduit."

Reggie's mind pulls to a screeching halt. "The… Water Conduit?"

"I mean, I'm probably not the only one in the world, but I'm the only one here, so, that's what they call me," Aideen shrugs. "Are you alright? No what am I saying, of course you aren't. You have to be so confused –"

With dawning suspicion, Reggie asks, "... What day is it?"

It's been weeks. It's been _weeks_ with him underwater, trapped in concrete, and in those weeks a lot of crap had gone down. Augustine was arrested. Curdun Cay Station was broken open – that's where Aideen is from. DUP was disbanded. Delsin became the leader of the free Conduits movement. And apparently built a seven story Brutalist structure just past the shore of Rainier.

"I want to see him – my brother, Delsin, I want to see him," Reggie says.

Aideen hesitates. "I totally get you, and sympathise with you, but that's, ah – Delsin's a bit busy right now," she says. "And I don't think you should go anywhere –"

"Young lady, I'm a legally elected officer of the law, Sheriff of Salmon Bay county," Reggie says firmly. "You can't keep me here, that's unlawful detainment."

"... I think Delsin actually has the right to detain Conduits, it's like, a thing now, but, uh – wait –"

Reggie doesn't wait – he has his shoes on now, and he's getting out of here, and he's going to see his brother. "I appreciate you fishing me out of the sea, but I'm – going… wow."

They've got trees growing indoors – the whole place looks like a veritable greenhouse, actually. It's almost enough to distract him, but Reggie refuses to get sidetracked, and instead looks for stairs leading downwards and going for them.

"Listen," Aideen says, catching up with him. "Maybe I can take you there, okay, I'll take you to the event grounds, I've been wanting to go, but – you have to promise not to use your powers, okay?"

"What – I don't have powers," Reggie scoffs – and then quickly backtracks. "Not that there is anything wrong with having powers, I'm sure yours are just – lovely. But I'm a regular old non-Conduit myself."

Aideen gives him a dubious look. "You were underwater for weeks," she points out slowly.

"So the concrete preserved me," Reggie says firmly. "Will you take me to the event grounds now, please?"

* * *

Well, it certainly looks like a party. Thousands of people just milling around, both on the actual event areas, which are made of markedly familiar looking concrete, and along the streets and shorelines. They're mostly watching the end of the bridge, where blocks of concrete and bits of metal rise from the waters at a steady pace, before refiguring themselves into new shapes before attaching themselves to the bridge. Already the structure has grown, stretching out towards the other end.

Reggie scans the crowd, his eyes lingering on a pair of teenagers with patches on their jackets with DUP logo crossed out, proclaiming "I support Conduits!" Elsewhere there's a big sign with a stylised image of Cole MacGraw, and people had put flowers under it, like it was some kind of altar. Elsewhere there are old Lifeline signs, but it looks like they've been defaced or repurposed, and where it once read "No Bio-terrorists!" It now reads "Yes Conduits!"

It's all completely bizarre.

"He's there, obviously," Aideen points to the bridge. "But no one is supposed to go there when they're working."

"Yeah, I'm getting that," Reggie says, frowning. "Do they ever take breaks?"

"I don't know – I don't think they will today, with so much to do," Aideen admits. "They want to finish the bridge before the night, so… probably not."

"Ah. I guess I'll, uh… look around. Just one question," Reggie says and points to the massive flower on the bridge – it's visible even from below, it's so big. "What is _that_?"

"That's Desmond – I mean, Desmond is in the middle," Aideen says earnestly.

Desmond again. "Okay – and what does that mean? What is he doing?"

"Desmond is giving power to the others – that's his ability. He'd like… Conduit solar plant," Aideen explains. "He takes power from the sun and gives it to others."

"And the flower is like an array of mirrors, directing sunlight at him," Reggie guesses, squinting at the glowing arches rising from the massive flower. "So those, those _strings_ – they're giving power to the builders. Huh."

"Yep," Aideen agrees. 

"Right, okay. I guess I'll just hang around until they're finished," Reggie says, blowing out a breath, still mostly confused by all of this. "Thanks, Aideen, you've been a big help."

"No problem," she says and smiles. "I'll be around too, so if you need anything…"

"I'll give you a shout. Thanks."

Shaking his head and wondering if he'd ended up in an alternate reality, Reggie ventures into the crowd, intending to learn _everything_ he's missed out on during his nap.

-

Well, if nothing else, people love to give their opinions on Conduits. They're not all positive, a lot of people have their doubts, but after two finished bridges, two days of safe displays of power – and two days of no one being hurt – the people of Seattle are definitely warming up to their Conduit contingent.

Asking around, Reggie learns a lot of what Delsin had been getting up to. Making deals with the Mayor, getting on the news a lot… Curdun Cay Station is old news by now, even though it hasn't even been a month yet. Hundreds of Conduits had been let loose, and around sixty had stayed in Seattle, and now worked for Delsin, or at least lived in his building and enjoyed his protection. Including a known actual _terrorist_ – the very same who's now powering up Delsin's Construction powers. Desmond Miles.

"But, I mean, so far Delsin seems to have reins on the guy," says a local Seattle Police officer, one Reggie didn't know before, but who's working on security at the event. "And honestly, it's better to put the guy to use, if this kind of stuff is the result, you know?" Which is… a bit of an unpleasant way to put it, but Reggie thinks it's meant as a positive statement anyway.

There are some cops at the event who know Reggie, giving him a double take when they see him, but Reggie brushes aside their shock with, "Misunderstanding, I'm still working on getting it sorted out.?

Honestly, the fact that he'd been pronounced dead is almost comforting news, especially compared to the fact that in his absence Delsin had become a known and _trusted_ public figure, an actual goddamn superhero. And Abigail Walker is now running a firework show a la Conduit powers. And apparently Eugene Sims is now known worldwide as one of the leading security experts?

Obviously the last month, while it had definitely made a difference, hadn't been enough to fix preconceptions the DUP had installed in people – some of them still seem to think of Conduits as less than human. But it's also obviously changing, and fast. It's just a lot to take in, but at least Reggie has time to come to terms with it – because Delsin and his crew of construction Conduits don't stop their work until the sun sets, and even then it seems begrudging.

They fail to finish the bridge – and then proceed to make an announcement about it. 

"Well, shoot. I don't know what to tell you guys, this bridge is really damn long, and there's only so much sun to go around in a day," Delsin says, suddenly on the stage, speaking into a microphone. "We're going to have to pick this up tomorrow. I know it's a bummer, but we're going to close the event here anyway, give our event organisers and artists a break, I think they deserve it after all of this. So, let's give a hand to our crew of organisers, and Fetch and her lovely performers, and Eugene, who's been on top of the situation all this time," there's some laughter at that, as Delsin points to the angels overhead. "And let's give a hand to Seattle, you have been a lovely audience!"

There's cheering and hooting and whistling, and Delsin waves at everyone. "Tomorrow, we'll finish up this bridge and get the city back in running order," he promises. "But now I'm going to go over there and pass out or something – it's been a _long ass day_. Have a good evening, everyone!"

He hops off the stage to another round of applause, and while some official gets on stage to give the Mayor's seal of approval, Reggie quickly gets up and heads for his brother.

"... Best we don't risk it. Karena is getting a hang of it, but neither of us feel very good about her using her powers this close to this many people," Delsin is saying, as Reggie pushes through the crowd to get to him. "'Sides, Desmond's wiped. Better let him recharge naturally."

Delsin is sitting down on a concrete bench, talking to some people – men and women, Conduits and not. At his feet there's a lanky, long-haired guy, head resting on Delsin's knee as he dozes off there, looking exhausted. Delsin is petting his hair and smiling.

"We should have planned for this," an old black woman sighs, shaking her head. "The 520 is two times longer than other bridges combined. There was no way to finish it in one day."

"Live and learn," Delsin shrugs. "We'll finish it tomorrow, might throw together some impromptu entertainment – it will be fine."

"It's also humanising," the guy leaning onto his legs says sleepily, not opening his eyes. "You know Conduits can make mistakes too, yadda yadda."

"That, yeah," Delsin says and ruffles his hair. "Don't fall asleep, I don't have the strength to carry you this time."

"Mmh. Someone's looking at us."

"Everyone's looking at us," Delsin snorts, but looks up – and Reggie shakes himself out of his stupor.

Their eyes meet, and Delsin stands up so fast that Reggie winces for the guy on the ground – that's gotta hurt. "Shit, sorry Desmond," Delsin says, giving the now whining guy an apologetic pat, his eyes not leaving Reggie's. "Reggie – man. You're awake – when –"

They move at the same time and meet in the middle, as everyone watches. Delsin feels good – feels real. He also hadn't changed his clothing at all. "You made it," Reggie breathes. "You beat Augustine, you got her power. The tribe?"

"I healed them, they're okay – looking forward to seeing you," Delsin says into his shoulder, a little choked. "Reggie, I'm sorry – you were down underwater for weeks, and I didn't realise – we only got you up like four days ago, but I should've known, I should've –"

"Hey, hey, it's alright, I'm here now," Reggie says and pulls back enough to see him. "And apparently you're the leader of a _movement_?"

"No, don't call it that, awkward political connotations," Delsin says with a wet laugh, while behind him the lanky long-haired guy sits up on the bench with yawn. "It's more of a nonprofit thing, really."

"Uh-huh," Reggie answers. "Well, it seems like I've missed a lot."

"Yeah, it's been a bit busy. A lot happened," Delsin agrees with a snort, glancing back at Desmond and then looking at Reggie – and oh boy, Reggie knows that look. The terrorist guy, _really_?

Actually, why is he even bothering to be surprised, Delsin hooked up with a murderous sniper and then turned her to the side of the good guys, so… maybe it's expected at this point.

"Guess you better catch me up, then," Reggie says, telling himself to be patient and understanding – and _not_ to try to shake sense into his brother, it never works anyway. "I can't wait to hear _all_ about it."

"And I can't wait to hear what power you have!" Delsin says eagerly. "Did you manifest any yet, did you figure it out? What is it – please tell me it's something cool."

Reggie gets a worryingly sinking feeling all of a sudden. "What are you talking about?"

"You're a Conduit, man!" Delsin says, patting his shoulders. "You're one of us now, activated and everything! You haven't done anything with it yet?"

"Delsin, I," Reggie starts, intending to argue, to object – but here he is, standing surrounded by Delsin's Conduits, out in the open, in a world where that is obviously okay now. "Uh, are you _sure?_ Maybe – maybe I'm not. I definitely haven't felt any – uh – Conduitness?"

"Reggie, man, you were underwater for weeks, trapped in concrete – only a Conduit could survive that. That's how we figured out you might be alive down there," Delsin says and motions to his lanky man. "Desmond figured it out – since you're my brother, you had a chance of having the gene, and it can be activated by life or death situations. And since you're alive…"

Reggie looks at the lanky guy, who gives him a lazy wave, and then looks back at Delsin. "Oh," he says. "Um. I – I haven't felt anything so far?"

"Hmm. Maybe it's a slow bloomer," Delsin hums and then pats his shoulder. "Don't worry, we'll figure it out together."

Well that's a terrifying concept, considering how Delsin usually figures things out. "Right, right," Reggie says faintly. "I can't wait. Why don't you introduce your, uh, friends to me first?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure," Delsin says and, predictably, turns to the lanky guy first. "This is Desmond Miles, he'd kind of like my, um… second in command? I guess?"

Desmond Miles ruefully shakes his head at that, and Reggie thinks, _oh, is that what they're calling it these days,_ and settles in for the long haul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it, that's the story. It's not perfect but it is finished. Thank you to everyone reading and commenting, hope you enjoyed the ride.
> 
> (After this, Seattle become the centre of Conduit activity, shortly followed by New Marais. Things aren't perfect, there's still a lot of work to be done, but it starts looking up.
> 
> With the Conduits being Hot News and also the investigations on Brooke Augustine's activities and also to what the DUP was really up to on going, people start digging into the past of specific Conduits, and some stuff comes to light. Assassins (specifically Shaun and Rebecca) maybe give the investigations a little boost. Either way, Desmond, along with lot of other Conduits, is eventually publicly pardoned. He doesn't go back to the Assassins, enjoying his new life basking in the sun, but he keeps in touch with them. And he never even sees another Animus again. 
> 
> Delsin becomes the official head of the officials Conduit Sanctuary, eventually just the Sanctuary, which handles all things Conduit from helping Conduits to training then to eventually sending them out on various projects, from building to climate control to crisis management to whatever else it is the conduits can do. He ends up doing way more construction than he originally intended. The load is lessened when the first former DUP concrete Conduits join the Sanctuary, taking up community service and whatnot. It's not a perfect arrangement, but even Force Conduits are Conduits and the Sanctuary doesn't discriminate.
> 
> Reggie is the first known Conduit to be elected, as Salmon Bay unanimously vote him back into the Sheriff position. Everyone is very proud (and Betty is slightly smug about the tribe being the very first to go there).
> 
> Roselyn sees her grandkids, Hugo gets to go back to his parents, Jimeno plants an orange trees in the Compound, Soraya makes a small Solar Flower on the rooftop, the various material Conduits make history in recycling and one day Karena the Radiation Conduit learns how to recycle used up fuel rods and it's good.
> 
> Desmond gets all the naps and oranges and Delsin takes a lot of graffiti breaks with him and people pretend not to see them sneaking off at times to play hooky from Responsibilities. 
> 
> And they all lived happily ever after.
> 
> The end.)


End file.
